Tie your Heart at Night to Mine, Love

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Nothing had changed much on the third day of Voldemort's defeat. The dead had been buried early in the morning the day before, and all of those who were cleared by Madam Pomfrey had left for the collective funerals on the grounds. Hermione hadn't been discharged – something that both relieved and saddened her. The longest she had stayed away from Professor Lupin had been a seven-minute shower, for which Harry had stayed in her place, and she couldn't bear to think of leaving him alone. Yet her heart sank when the Weasley's had stopped to check on her before Fred's funeral. Mrs. Weasley kissed her forehead and told her to rest and not worry – they would hold a ceremony to all war heroes soon, so all loved ones could pay their respects after they healed properly.

Indeed, nothing had changed much on the third day of Voldemort's defeat. But everything had changed the morning before, and today was proving to be surprisingly uncooperative about it.

Hermione set down her book with a groan, earning herself a few odd looks from fellow patients. Or perhaps the looks had less to do with the thick yellow tome and the guttural sound and more to do with the two competing piles of books stacked on the ground beside her cot. She had rummaged, in little more than a day, through more books than Ravenclaw's would in a year.

There was something illegal about the situation as well, yet Gringotts had mixed Hermione's definition of crime with the more lax notion of something-I-probably-shouldn't-do. Therefore, the taking of books from the closed library without Madam Pince's knowledge seemed no worse to her than the fact that she was putting them on the floor. It was Harry—that unlike her had been discharged, despite the fact that he had died—that had offered to sneak her books from the now off-limits library. As for their placement, the chair-transfigured-nightstand had been too small to accommodate both the books and the potions Professor Lupin had to take, so the books had to go. And had they been a little more helpful, Hermione would've felt guiltier about it. As it was, for the first time in her life they seemed no better than arse-cleaning material…of very poor quality.

Maybe I'm being too harsh, she pondered, maybe they're just as good as decoration pieces. Of the distinguished, dust-catching, useless kind. Hermione closed her eyes and sighed. She had flipped page after page, picked up book after book and only came up with vague, unreliable answers. Books and cleverness – what good they did?

She set the yellow tome, titled Link Magic, on top of the bigger pile and looked sideways to the smaller stack of books beside it. How was it possible that all knowledge available about the nameless curse amounted to a total of three Healing books and two Defense ones? Worse yet, how was it that from all five of them, all she had gathered was a total of two paragraphs – symptoms and hypothesis about its origin, the very two pieces of information Madam Pomfrey had provided her? Suddenly, having the same level of expertise on a subject as the experts themselves had stopped being complimentary and become worrisome. Especially since the only new knowledge she'd gained was what followed the evolution of the symptoms, something Madam Pomfrey had kindly withheld from her: excruciating death.

"Oh, Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey had said the day before when Hermione asked her about it. "Don't lose hope yet."

And Hermione had been about to storm out of the Great Hall and into each and every classroom to scrutinize old schoolbooks, in the hopes she'd find the nameless curse scribbled at the margins of an abandoned Charms or Potions textbook somewhere—much like Harry had found Snape's Sectusempra—when Auror Shacklebolt showed up. His visit to Professor Lupin distracted her from the curse, bringing forth the cause of Hermione's current exasperation with books and the reason behind the bigger book pile.

"Good evening, Miss Granger." He'd greeted her in a polite, yet warm tone as he stood beside the professor's cot.

"Auror Shacklebolt." Hermione had replied with a small nod. She had been thinking about how battered he looked and chastised herself for the shallow thought, lowering her eyes to Lupin's stock-still figure. Something clicked in her mind, and before she could stop herself her lips were inquiring about it. "May I ask you something?"

The Auror met her eyes. "Certainly, what is it?"

"The Patronus you saw after the battle," she began, her eyebrows furrowed together as she replayed the odd conversation with Professor McGonagall in her head. Something about the older witch's words had intrigued her, but the Madam Pomfrey had interrupted them before she could ask. Surely her Patronus hadn't changed its form, had it? "Was it an otter?"

"Oh, yes, a very lively one. It came straight to Arthur as we were rounding up captured Death Eaters."

"Thanks. I didn't—I wasn't sure."

Shacklebolt gave her a sad smile, misunderstanding her words. "There's nothing wrong about being unable to conjure a Patronus in a war. You're a very talented witch, Miss Granger. I'm sure Remus conjured his because he was concerned that the battle had weighed on you. But your Patronus was there with his, just as strong, perhaps even more so." He lowered his eyes to nowhere in particular and chuckled. "As soon as we crossed paths with Minerva, you otter started bugging the poor wolf – it rested on his back, played between its legs…it was quite a sight on such a gloomy day."

Something cold whirled inside her stomach. "Professor Lupin was already out when I conjured it."

Shacklebolt's head jerked back slightly and his eyebrows shot up for a millisecond. Hermione didn't know the man very well, but something about the speed with which he masked his expression told her more than his words and his careful tone. "I'm sure he cast it before he was hit."

Hermione tilted her head to the side and evaluated the wizard.

"Yes, I'm sure he did." was her reply. Yet she was convinced he hadn't.

"Hey! 'Mione!" A big hand waving in front of Hermione's eyes startled her out of her reverie. She looked up to see that it was connected to Ron's arm and body. Standing beside him, almost at the foot of her cot, was Harry. "How are you feeling?"

"I need more books."

Ron's face scrunched up in a grimace. "See, mate? She's just fine!"

And as Harry fought to suppress a smile, Hermione couldn't help but smile herself.

A/N: Here's another chapter!

I usually post on Sunday, but I'll be without my computer for a couple of days and didn't want to break my promise to you.

I really hope you like it and I promise Remus won't be unconscious for much longer! And please review! Reviews make me really happy and even more motivated to write!

Bear hugs to LumosUnicorn31, 8. B. R. Adford, Ominouswolf, pianomouse for the reviews, to 93182, Thrifty-Crimson, reyeleigh7213 for adding the story to their favorites list and to LumosUnicorn31, christie1775, JennC30, zuzz, 93182, dancerengland, dixie326, 8. B. R. Adford, wee kori L, kk1999 for following. Thank you! :)

BHS