Forty-Eight
Day: 1570; Hour: 7
She tried to sneak to find his room twice, and she was easily caught by the patrolling guards and busy Healers. They make her wait until morning and she hardly sleeps. She can't help thinking of that moment at the gazebo. His voice, over and over in her head. Her confession, that ache. She also knows he's going to be angry, but he might forgive her.
She glances at his chart and sees her name, then Lupin, written under the Visitor section. He either isn't angry enough to keep her away, or he's angry enough to get revenge as soon as possible. She walks down the hall to the ninth door, takes a deep breath, and pushes it open. She immediately finds his eyes over a tray of hospital-issued breakfast. Ba-dump, ba-dump, her heart matches the quickening pace of blinking light that signals his heartbeat.
She can't fully inspect him, the pajamas covering everything except his hands and from the neck up. His head is wrapped, and she remembers him doing the same thing with his Phoenix band when she found him. The room reeks of potions, a dark bruise on his neck right below the mark she left with her mouth beneath his ear. There are several scratches over his jaw as if he fell, and a square of gauze peeks out from beneath the collar of the gown. His hands are bruised and scratched, but his fingers are curling into fists just fine. And his eyes are open. Open, on her, alert, alive.
She feels the swelling of a lot of things at her gut, but there's pride there too. Just a little bit. Because she saved him this time, and no matter how he feels about it, it was worth it for the push and pull of his breaths across the room.
She clasps her hands behind her back, grinding a heel against the floor. She wants to move closer, but her heart kept building with each step, and one more might collapse it into her ribs. She takes a moment to sink into the sight of him, and she thinks he's taking it too because he just keeps staring. He hadn't thought he would have the chance again. She knew that the second her feet landed on grass with her heart somewhere behind her. He didn't think he'd have to face this moment, and she knows the first thing he's going to grab is his anger, because it's easier and he knows what to do with it. They both do.
"When I get out of this bed, I'm going to kill you," he whispers, voice cracking.
"If my wand isn't fixed, you might have a chance."
She would be more cautious of his anger, but there's an empty potion bottle next to the tray, and he's always calmer whenever he gives in to taking one. She's glad to see it. She'll take the luck of timing with relief when she can get it, and she knows all the emotions in the room are enough for an explosion if he was on fire with her and not foggy on medication.
"You should start running now, before they put me in Azkaban for it."
"I can always outrun you later."
"You run like you're wading through mud." He inhales, something cracking in his chest. "I am going to make you regret that stunt you pulled."
"I'm not going to regret it, no matter what you do. I'm glad I got you out of there. I would do it all over again."
"You know, when someone is angry at another person, it is usually best for the wrong-doer to condole with the angry person - not piss them off more."
"Well, I've always lived by a different set of rules."
He snorts, or laughs, she can't tell. "You're an impossible woman, do you know that?"
"Yes."
He focuses back onto her again, his voice edging out. "You had no right to pull that shit on me. I should curse you for your audacity. I don't know where you got the idea in your head that you can include me in your personal missions of playing the heroine, Granger, but I'm not Potter or Weasley. I won't lie here and thank you for fucking me over."
She narrows her eyes at him, leaning forward and pressing a hand to her stomach. "I didn't screw you over, Malfoy. You were too busy doing that to yourself to notice, I guess! I don't know when you jumped on the suicide wagon, but I wasn't going to watch you kill yourself, so get over it."
"I'm not you, Granger - I don't risk my life for stupid things. There was a device down in the tunnels that Lupin needed to activate to-"
"And to risk your life for that isn't stupid? Th-"
"This is war! All of us risk our lives everyday for it. If I hadn't expected that a long time ago, I wouldn't even be here."
"You didn't have a chance! Your leg-"
"That wasn't your decision to make!"
"Well, I made it anyway! I don't regret it, because you're here instead of in the morgue where you would have been! If you want to hate me for that, then do it!"
He glares at her, his jaw working rapidly, and she huffs, glaring back. She will not back down on this, though she knows she probably should. He isn't in the position to be fighting with her, and frankly, she's surprised there aren't any members of the staff bursting in to see what the problem is. It's rude and inconsiderate of her to be here now arguing with him, when he's injured, buzzing on pain potions, and should be sleeping. There has just always been something about him that gets her riled up to the point where she loses her head.
"I'm sorry." She decides to be the bigger person, and when his head lowers like he couldn't have heard her right, she clarifies. "For bursting in here to yell at you. I'll wait until you're better."
Because she's not that much of the bigger person to let him think she's sorry for taking him out of the mission. She'll never be sorry for that, no matter how angry he gets or how injured he is. It had been impossible for her to leave him there...just as impossible as it was to him to see her stay.
"How kind of you," he snaps, and then taps his fingers against his thigh.
"You weren't listening to reason..." She glares when she realizes that his tapping fingers were counting out seconds until she spoke again. He shakes his head at the four digits and sends her a malevolent look. "What you were asking was impossible."
"It was simple. Go into the woods, find a transporter, and get out. Unless you-"
"Leaving you, I mean," she rushes out, hot in the face and staring hard at her toes. "Like that. There."
Silence, and she might be imagining it, but the blinks of his heart may have increased in speed. Or maybe it's just the way embarrassment slows your brain down until the seconds go by slow but everything seems to be happening quickly. That moment plays again in the back of her mind, and her stomach is a rolling mess of nerves. Her blood must be rushing too quickly, because there's a heat burrowing up from inside of her and spreading out, making her skin itchy. She clears her throat and looks up, meeting his stare. She's already out there – she can't get further out there. There just isn't any reason to pretend anymore. She doesn't have it in her.
He's studying her, and she's pretty sure she's giving everything away, though he remains expressionless. The movement of his mouth is barely perceptible, but it's like he's forming his lips around the things he wants to say, but not deciding if he should. He closes his mouth when she starts staring, pressing his lips into a thin line. A sound of aggravation rises from his throat, and he gives her an exasperated look.
"You are the most stubborn, annoying, overbearing-"
"I'm overbearing?" She pokes her finger into her chest, raising an eyebrow at him. "And if you want to talk stu-"
"And let's not forget—"
"Yeah, yeah, Malfoy. I hate you, too." Several things flicker across his face, too fast for her to recognize. "You should get some rest," she says quickly.
"Are you sure you're not going to go off on one of your rampages again and keep me from getting my healing sleep?" Sometimes he likes to exploit her guilt, but she doesn't blame him, because she does the same to him at times. "You should go back to your room, Granger. You look terrible."
They glare at each other but it's ruined by his bleary eyes and dropping eyelids. "From the model of perfection himself."
"Glad you noticed."
She shakes her head, smoothing her palms down the top of her legs. "Well, I'm happy you're okay."
"I hope you look just as pleased with yourself when I..." His eyebrows furrow and he shuts his eyes, pressing his fingers to his forehead.
"Draco?" She steps forward, unable to help the worry in her voice.
"I'm fine." If he weren't slowly rocking from side to side, she's sure his words would have come out more snappy than breathy.
He jumps when her fingers wrap carefully around his hand, pulling it from his face. His eyes barely open to glare at her as he frowns, giving a weak tug away. "Go to sleep."
He puts up a fight, but his breathing evens out and his chin drops to his chest in seconds.
She stands and watches him for a while, taking calm in his own calmness, in the strong and steady heartbeats from the light. She pushes the overbed table away, but doesn't trust herself to pull him into a lying position in case of injuries. She takes a seat at the edge of the bed and brushes her fingers over his bruised knuckles. It scares her, how much she cares for him. She'll never forget the ache in her chest when she stared up at him in the doorway to the gazebo, or how it felt like her insides were on fire in the exact opposite way that she is used to from him. Her heart and stomach were threatening revolt, her body shaking, and all she could think about was how she couldn't accept not seeing him again. One of the hardest thing she has ever done, she thinks, was done the moment she turned and ran away from him.
But she wasn't going to let him go that easily. And she might have definitely crossed the point where she could let him go at all. There's no escaping Draco Malfoy. She's always going to carry him around with her. Sometimes on her back like a burden, sometimes in her fingers like glass, but always clamped down to her inner functions that pump, throb, race life through her until there's no more left of it.
She bites her lip and hunches her shoulders like it could make her more careful, fluffing the pillows behind him, and eases him back. He stays asleep, not even uttering the little growl of displeasure she usually gets when moving one of his limbs or head when he's sleeping. She stares at the heaviness of his sleep in thought, a memory swimming through her mind. It feels a little like cheating, but she thinks that's alright, leaning toward him. Her breath puffs against his ear, and then she whispers the words she wished she would have said fully.
The light attached to the beats of his heart quickens immediately, flashing color across their skin as she smiles stupidly at his earlobe.
Day: 1570; Hour: 12
"You're sure you're okay, dear?" Molly brings her homemade soup, but it doesn't taste the same.
"I'm fine."
"I saw you jump out of that house." George chews his licorice, looking torn over what to say next. "It was pretty spectacular, in hindsight. You were gone before we got there."
"I...saw some people who needed help when I was in there. So I went to go find them."
"We didn't s- We figured."
"We missed you." She tries to hold his eyes but he looks away, over her head and at the door, trapped.
"I have a girlfriend, you know." He looks at her then, a spark across his eyes, and she breathes. He'll be alright, she knows. All things must heal eventually. They have to.
"Poor thing, her," she quips, and smiles at the ghost of Weasley Revenge that passes over his face.
Day: 1570; Hour: 15
Ron doesn't look at her so much as he looks through her. He shakes his head, slowly, and looks down at his feet. "Hey, Ron."
He reaches up to scratch at the scar on his face. His voice is low, all rust and gravel. "The room has changed, Hermione."
She feels her eyes widen, flashing them toward the Healer who spins his hand in the air. Go with it, follow along, he had said. She had asked him how that is possibly going to help, and he told her it is only until Ron can adjust to seeing them. Small changes, slow, like approaching a wild animal. Like blowing bubbles and catching them against your skin.
"I know. But that's okay."
Ron's eyes are blue fire when he looks up at her, and words come out so harsh and quick she's not sure if it's even English. He turns his back to her, walking toward the wall. "Have they got to you?"
"Wha- No."
"How do I know?"
"Because I love you." It comes out a little too thickly, but she has to push it up through that tightening in her throat.
His fingers curl against the wall and his shoulders hunch. "Tell me you found it."
She can't seem to get enough air. She can't seem to move. "N-not yet."
Perfect stillness, and then a break. He kicks the wall, pounds his fist against it, and launches himself at the bedside table. He picks it up and throws it, but he's too weak and it's too heavy, crashing to the floor just a space in front of his feet.
"You had the books! I told you where to find them! The ring should have led you there!" He pulls at his hair, his eyes sparkling as he raises them to hers. "Why haven't you come? Why haven't you found me?"
Her blood pounds, and there's something huge and sharp in her chest cavity. "I'm right here."
He laughs, cold and ruined, on a sob. He swoops down, his hands grabbing for things on the ground, and he throws air at her. Throws so hard his tendons are popping up on his neck, and his body jerks with the thrusts of his arms. "Right through!"
"I'm still here," she pleads, leaning forward, her hands clasped, and she doesn't know if she's praying or begging. "I'm right-"
"Leave me alone! Leave me alone! Leavemealoneleavemeleaveleaveme!"
Hermione and Harry are halfway down the corridor as the Healer slams the door when she bursts into tears. Harry grabs her elbow, pulling her up short, and stares at the wall behind her. His jaw is clenching, his eyes tight, but his pulse his hammering against her tear-stained cheek and he hugs her too hard.
Day: 1570; Hour: 22
There's a low groan behind her from the door opening, and Hermione reaches up to wipe at her face. She brings her sight forward from the view outside of the window, focusing on the room's reflection instead, spotting red hair. Ginny closes the door quickly and silently behind her, peeking out to make sure no one spotted her. They aren't supposed to be roaming around the hospital in the middle of the night.
Hermione swallows thickly, but her shuddering breath gives her away as quickly as the redness of her eyes. She feels overloaded with emotions. She can hardly gain control over herself, and there's nothing to distract her. No books, or television, or games. All the people she's seen are stuck in the same place as her, and there's no escape. That chasm is like a physical wound here, spreading across their skin.
She can barely make out Ginny's eyes in the weak reflection, but she can see that she's shaking her head. "You don't have to be strong for me, Hermione."
That ball rising back up, and she has to swallow three times before she can speak. "I'm fine."
"No one is fine." Ginny shrugs, like the whole world knows it and it doesn't matter. She grabs one of the visitor chairs from the wall, stiff and plastic, and sets it down next to Hermione.
"Where did you get the slippers?"
"The Healer likes me. The red hair, I think. Managed to get a pair when I mentioned my feet were cold."
Hermione huffs a laugh. "I have a female Healer, so-"
"So do I. Throw her a wink, you never know."
"I'd rather not get friendly with anyone who has to see me naked to check my injuries – male or female."
"Does Malfoy know this yet?"
Hermione gives her a look, but the redhead smirks and ignores it. "I told him I love him."
Hermione blinks out the window, having not been aware she was going to confess until she did. The moon stares back at her, reminding her of why. Of Draco's face in a hue of blue, and an impossible moment. She doesn't know why she felt the need to tell someone else. Ginny wouldn't understand anyway – she doesn't really understand it either.
"Do you?" Ginny doesn't look very surprised, and she can't help but wonder if she gave herself away far more than she thought she had.
"Yes," Hermione whispers, looking up toward the moon, and then meeting Ginny's eyes in the window. "I tried to tell myself differently. He's... He's not an easy person to feel that way about. In this situation... But sometimes it's really easy. Sometimes it's so easy it doesn't make sense. I tried to tell myself it was a chemical imbalance."
"Did it work?"
"No. I'm only slightly better at lying to myself as I am to my friends. Mostly because I want so badly to believe it."
Ginny laughs, soft and with a shake of her head. "What did he say?"
Hermione folds her hands, flicking the nail of her thumb against the knuckle of the other. "I sort of said it back. In a way. I mean, he definitely said it first, it's just that I didn't say it all the way. He threw me out the door of a gazebo and was yelling at me to run, and he said it, said it before he pushed me out, and then I said I did too. Me too." She waves her hand in the air and shakes her head. "He just...stared. He didn't even look surprised, and I'm wondering if he already knew. Especially since I let him into my head a-"
"He's a Le-"
"Yeah. He wasn't running for the door at the time, so I thought he didn't catch on. I also... I also, sort of, told him before that. In a way. But it was...covered...sort of...with...something else."
Ginny blinks at the window, her lips curling, before she finally breaks into laughter. "What?"
"I told him I wasn't a war whore." Ginny laughs harder, and Hermione gives the other woman her best annoyed look. "After the mission for...in Italy, he was angry. Started...acting like I was just a...well, you know, a casual whatever. He wouldn't even look at me, really. So I told him I wasn't a war whore, and there was this awkward conversation, and he asked me what it meant if he was one. Then... Oh, stop laughing already!"
"Merlin, you two are dysfunctional."
Hermione glares at her, sniffing her nose into the air. "I meant that I had feelings for him. Then, before he pushed me out of the gazebo, he- Ginny."
"I'm sorry. I'm just glad I fell in love with someone who never confessed his feelings for me by telling me he wasn't a whore."
Hermione's lips twitch, and she shoves Ginny in the shoulder when the laughter bubbles up. "He asked me what it meant if he was, and then told me he wasn't, but it was more in the literal- And I never said we weren't...unconventional."
"You're beyond unconventional." Ginny's smile is slow to fade, and they both turn their attention to the window. "It's scary, isn't it?"
"And stupid, and annoying, and...a lot of other things. But there's no help for it. It's like I'm powerless, and... It hurts. I don't think it's supposed to hurt."
"It does anyway," Ginny whispers, shrugs. "Sometimes it hurts so badly you want to rip it out of you, but you don't, because it's worth it. When it stops being worth the hurt, it stops being worth it completely."
"I just want something easy in my life."
"You fell in love with Draco Malfoy, Hermione. You obviously don't settle for easy."
Hermione plucks at the tape around her fingers, the threads and fuzz from the blanket that had stuck to the peeled back edge. "He told me he loved me." She knows she already said this, but she needs to repeat it to both of them. Because Draco Malfoy fell in love with her too.
She doesn't know what to do with it, the words that keep repeating and the way it makes her feel. She doesn't know where to put it, so she just keeps latching onto it. And the fact that she doesn't have to say goodbye. That it's okay for her to feel what she is feeling, because even if no one else accepts or understands it, he does, in all it's complications and intricacies, and the ways that no one else could. That maybe there is a space for them after all, and it is one they have carved with the world on their backs and desperate hands.
Ginny looks over at her, and her gaze feels heavy on Hermione's cheek. "He's not that much of an idiot to not. Of course he does."
Hermione blushes, shakes her head. She says it like it's simple, like it didn't just shake up her world. Maybe Hermione had been standing too close to not eclipse her vision with each movement that he made. Maybe if she was standing back, if she could have allowed herself distance, she would have seen it to know before he even said it. Sometimes she thought he might, that it could go beyond some sort of caring and attachment, but it was in those times where she admitted to herself that her feelings did. And she thought it was hope again. That it was a need for it to be there that put the pieces in the order that could form it – love. Love. And maybe it is simple, but it also feels like the craziest thing of all. In a great way. In a way that fire can light and burn without destroying. This impossible, beautiful thing.
The wind blows leaves against the window, making the inside of the room disappear under the sights of the outside world. Hermione pulls her blanket closer around her, Ginny's knee pressing against hers, and they are lost to their thoughts again.
Day: 1571; Hour: 7
She's nervous. She had been far less nervous the first time she walked into this room because she had been more concerned with just looking at him. To see him and know he was okay. Now she can't help but be anxious and a little scared. A lot scared, in a different way than she's used to. In the way that he makes her feel, because these things are new to the parts of the world they acknowledge and don't ignore. She's been feeling this for months, has known for months. Known in the way that she sometimes said it in her head, and then told herself it was a lie five minutes later, just so she could handle it.
But now he knows. She had been standing there, lost and afraid, and the words had torn themselves from her chest. She had to say them in some way, just in case, because she needed him to know no matter what it might mean later. Just like he had wanted her to know.
It's not just about the war, it's not about comfort, it's not about holding onto each other because it's someone that's there. It's about holding on to it, fighting for it, because it's her, because it's him, and this has come to mean something. They were both exposed under the hopelessness of the situation. Had unwillingly thrown off that careful construction of indifference and hung off the edge. She still isn't sure if they are going to fall, but there's no running from it anymore.
She enters the room to find him sitting at the edge of the bed, tying his boots. He lifts his head to look at her, blowing up air to get the fringe out of his vision. She's getting released in an hour, and she wanted to see him before she left, before he could disappear somewhere still angry. The fact that he appears to be leaving means he's definitely not under the influence of any potions, and he's less likely to be calm and disorientated.
"I thought you weren't supposed to leave until tomorrow?"
"Yes, well - since when did I follow orders, right?" He says this a bit bitterly, and she wonders if it has to do with her.
"I guess."
He sits up, pushing his hair back from his face. "You cut your hair."
"Yeah. It was...burnt, from that night. So I got it cut." She reaches up to touch the shoulder length distractedly. "You look better."
"I would think so."
"Why didn't they put some healing balm on those scratches?" She gestures to her face, in the area she can see faint red under the few days worth of a beard.
"Probably because it didn't seem important in the grand scheme of things. I believe I got them when my face hit a tree," he answers hotly.
"Still angry then, are you?"
"You had no right to do that and you know it."
"I had every right."
"No, you didn't. I am my own human being who can't be controlled, Granger. It was my life, my decision, and-"
"It was-"
"Shut. Your fucking mouth. For once in your life, Granger. You betrayed my trust-"
"What? I did not betray your trust, Malfoy! I-"
"You took advantage of the moment- No, shut up. You took advantage of the moment that I was busy making sure we were safe to spell me. And then you made me do something I was obviously unwilling to do, when I trusted you not to. That's a betrayal of my trust."
"It is no such thing! I did what was right by you, because you were too much of an idiot to see what you should do yourself!" she cried, jabbing her finger into the air at him, because it isn't like that.
He smirks suddenly, his emotions switching rapidly enough to wonder if perhaps he does have some head damage. "Your loyal little Gryffindor heart really gets worked up over those words."
"They're dramatic." But not fully lies, and part of her is bothered with that too.
He shrugs. "Maybe. But I was pissed enough that night to want to wrap my hand around your throat."
"But you didn't."
"No. I didn't." He looks at her thoughtfully. "If someone didn't cover for what I had to do that night, I would still be furious with you for making me do something I didn't want to."
"Well, I didn't want to leave either, at the gazebo. And I'm pretty sure it was you who literally threw me out the door." Her heart pounds, words in her eardrums.
"Yes." And she knows with how easily he answered that he had already considered this. If it hadn't worked to calm him, it at least made him realize he didn't have as much right to his anger over what she had done when he did the same.
She wants to ask him who the hypocrite is now but restrains herself. Barely. "So you're not angry any longer?"
He sighs, standing, and grabs his wand off the table. "It doesn't matter if I'm still angry, because I can't kill you. And no matter what I say or do, you'll always come back anyway."
"Maybe." He looks up at her, and she takes a deep breath. "Even, then?"
He looks at her hand, then down at his holster as he tucks his wand into it. She waits for him to shake it, and when he doesn't, she glares at him, dropping it to her side. "You know, that's twice now that I've offered you my hand, and twice now that you've denied it. It's very rude, when I'm putting myself out there, to just leave me hanging."
He raises an eyebrow at her and reaches forward, grabbing her hand and tugging her toward him. Her hand automatically wraps around his, and she stumbles into him with held breath. He kisses her slowly, his mouth warm and soft, and just a hint of his anger in the force of his tongue. She sinks into him, forgetting to act collected at all, and fists his shirt at the shoulder.
His arm wraps around her, his fingers clenching her hip. Because they are alive, because he needs her too, because he can't stop this really big and stupid thing either. Because she wouldn't let him. Because she loves him.
It's so normal and familiar. It's like they never said anything at all, and she doesn't know if it's because they are ignoring it or just accepting it. If it's because they have been feeling these things anyway, so it doesn't change anything for the other person to know. And then she wonders if it's weird for her to expect it to be different in some way. It's still exactly them.
It just feels a little stronger. A little less like she might shatter it if she isn't so very careful with it in her palm. Because if she's holding on, she knows he's holding on too, and she doesn't have to be so scared of it dropping to their feet.
A puff of air, a tug on her lip, and then he releases her. "My apologies."
She glares at him to cover up her heavy breathing. "Can you just say, 'I'm sorry'? Is that even possible for you?"
"No, afraid not. You see, I have this illness where I can't speak the S word or bolts of lightening will come out of the ceiling and fry my brain. Do you really want that to happen?"
"Bolts of lightening?" She hopes she doesn't look as amused as she feels.
"Yes. I was diagnosed at a very young age." He leans down toward her, and this is when she remembers her 'blood pressure illness'. "Very traumatic."
"I bet." She shoves him in the shoulder and he breathes a laugh. "Prat."
"Wench."
"Why do we always say the same exact things?" she asks as they walk from the room, and she tries to ignore his slight limp. It will probably be gone in a few days, and is likely the reason he's supposed to stay until tomorrow. She wonders why they didn't give him a cane, but then she remembers his father and she understands.
She breathes in deep, arm brushing his, and her heart thrumming in her throat. This feels like an old friend one hasn't seen in a long time – there are changes to take in, but it's familiar and something you want to cling to, and she's trying to act normal in a moment that feels too big for not much at all.
"Because you lack originality, and so I force myself to use the same things as well as a way to make fun of you even more."
"Do you believe that?"
"Absolutely."
"I think you have a problem with lying to yourself."
"It's a side-effect of having to deal with you constantly. Like a disease that wears off on me. Soon I'll be blushing all the time, and stomping my feet, and pointing angrily at things." She laughs and he smirks. "You laugh now, but it's getting scarier from here on out, Granger."
"Well, my plan has always been to ruin your life."
"It's working."
Day: 1571; Hour: 9
Lupin waits while her eyes scan down the list of casualties. Some are familiar names from Hogwarts and missions, though no one she really knows. She finds several that could possibly be people she has worked with, but she doesn't know either the first or last name to be sure. She feels increasingly guilty about this each time she sees a name and has to wonder. She will have to ask Harry about Toad and Sam, and stop in at P&P to see if one of the six Harolds is Lavender's boyfriend. The only name she really knows is Tonks, though Lupin had told her it wasn't the full list yet, so she can only hope.
A small, dark part of her knows that there aren't many people to worry for beyond Harry's Alive List anyway. There just isn't many of them left at all, but she tries to shove the thought down before it can take her over. There are still a lot of names on this list, people who mean the world to other people, and the parchment feels heavy in her hands.
"I'm sorry...about Tonks. She-" She would miss Tonks. The easiness of her presence, the changing appearance that suited her mood, the clumsiness, the warmth. She would miss what she meant to Lupin.
Lupin waves his hand, not daring speech, and his eyes drop to the paper. She hands it back, watching the way his eyes dart down the lines, settling on one spot. On Tonks, she is sure. It hurts to see someone you love pressed between a jumble of strangers' names, representing their death. She remembers Justin, the three boxes, and taking up the sky. It should mean more. Every single one of them should have meant more.
She hands him her report from the battle, and he slides the list to the edge of his desk. She hadn't been able to sleep last night and she had to write her report three times. Her thoughts and emotions had been so jumbled, she kept forgetting it wasn't a journal entry.
"I heard you broke your wand."
"Yes. I taped it until I can get a new one. I'm pretty sure it's beyond repair."
"You'll only be able to use it for absolute emergencies now."
She opens her mouth to tell him it won't work at all, then snaps it shut with a click of her teeth. Hermione stares at him until her vision is blurred, and then blinks slowly. "Now? You're suspending me now?"
The corner of his mouth turns up, and then there's a small smile that doesn't fit the darkness under his eyes and the tired severity lining his forehead. "It's the agreed suspension, Hermione. A lot of Death Eaters were killed and captured the other night. We're getting information, locations from the new prisoners, and more and more are filling up the holding cells before Azkaban. There will be a team put together to actively search out the ones in hiding and who are on the run, but besides that..."
Her back slams against the back of the chair, her body rigid, and the world swims out of focus around her. She stares with wide, unblinking eyes, something winding tighter and tighter inside of her. Her chest trembles and something catches in her throat. "Wh- Lupin, what are you saying?"
"There's nothing left for you to do. Hermione...the war is over."
All the air in her body leaves her, and she doesn't know what else to do but cry.