September 28th

The damned Healers who were responsible for Hermione's care at St. Mungo's wouldn't release her until they were satisfied that there was no lasting damage to her brain following the latest in a long line of concussions she'd suffered over the years. She argued with them repeatedly, but they wouldn't be budged. Remaining in the hospital was the absolute last place she wanted to to be. But thanks to the fact that she still had some residual pain, they wouldn't release her. There was no estimate of when they thought she would be ready to leave either. Maybe the next day if she continued to rest and take her potions like a good girl.

She'd lost count the number of concussions she'd had in her life. Too many. Way too many. It was no wonder that she was half-cracked. Just like one of those American football brutes who couldn't even remember their own name or the scores of former professional boxers who'd taken too many blows to the head, she knew that the lasting impact of her injuries wasn't good. Magic could do a lot of good in healthcare, but nothing was fool-proof. There was still a lot that was still being learned and researched in both the Muggle and magical worlds. Maybe one day there would be a cure for the traumatic brain injuries and the less-traumatic though more frequent repeated injuries. She didn't hold out much hope for herself though. The damage had already been done.

When her potions wore off she couldn't stay asleep thanks to the lingering pain. If she allowed herself to think logically, of course it wouldn't be smart for the Healers to let her go. She still had some healing to do and if left on her own, she probably wouldn't rest long enough to satisfy them. Or, perhaps more likely, thanks to the dangers associated with simply being who she was, she might be injured all over again. Whoever it was that attacked her was still out there. There was no reason to believe that they would leave her alone just because they failed the first time.

But, a nagging thought in the back of her mind reminded her that if they wanted her dead, she would already be dead. Their attacker or attackers, she wasn't sure if this was the work of one or many, hadn't hesitated to strike Hannah down with an Avada. With her back turned to them, they could've easily killed her with the same spell. No, they chose a more physical manner of attack and then left her on the pavement next to Hannah's cooling body. They didn't seem to want her dead. At least not yet. Maybe next time they'd finish the job.

She groaned. Even the dim lights that were left on at nighttime in the hospital were too much for her head. She hoped that it would soon be time for more potions. If she had to remain in that level of pain for much longer, she wouldn't be pleased. Shouldn't it have been easier to suffer the aftereffects of a concussion after she'd had them before? She wasn't sure.

The door to her room squeaked slowly open. Seeing that the visitor's shadowy frame was far too tall and burly to belong to the mediwitch that had been responsible for her care, Hermione rolled her eyes. She didn't want to see Antonin. When she told him to leave, she meant it. Being alone with him in the same room again so soon after their last row was a terrible idea. She wasn't done being angry.

"Antonin, I told you…"

A flick of the man's wrist silenced her. She tried to speak, but no words would come out of her mouth. Another non-verbal spell tied each of her four limbs to the bed. While it wouldn't be the first time that her husband had to resort to a silencing spell and restraints to keep his wife from running out of the room during a heated discussion, it was clear very quickly that the man standing over her bed was not her husband at all. Screaming until her lungs burned did no good. No one could hear her in her silenced state. Pulling on the magically conjured rope didn't help either. She wasn't going anywhere. Even if she was at full strength after her injury, which she wasn't, she wouldn't have been able to break her bonds without magic.

"I must say that being forced to be in your presence is improved when you're silent. More people might like you if they knew that trick."

If it was possible, William Wood seemed even more deranged than the last time she saw him in London. He'd been so determined to catch her that when she started running through the streets, he didn't care what the Muggles thought, he was going to get her. She was thankful that the kind Muggle policemen stepped in to help. If they hadn't been there, she didn't want to imagine what might have happened next. Nothing good, that was for certain.

Hermione could feel some sympathy for the man. She wasn't without her own guilt after all. If his younger brother hadn't crossed her path that day so many years earlier, he might still be alive. Probably not though. Oliver Wood had a habit of getting involved in lost causes. Part of being a Gryffindor, no doubt. It was likely that if he'd managed to get out of the trap set by Antonin, he would have simply been killed by another Death Eater on another day. Wannabe heroes like him didn't have a long life expectancy in their world.

But, even the minute amount of sympathy she felt for the brother of the first man she ever killed only extended so far. Especially when he stood over her completely helpless form with murder in his eyes. She cursed herself for demanding that Antonin leave. If Wood tried anything with her husband there, he would've been dead in seconds. Very few wizards alive could take him down in a duel. He was very skilled. She missed his calming presence. Why did she have to be so dramatic and throw him out of her hospital room? It was no wonder their marriage was crumbling. Both of them were stubborn fools.

"I like you afraid."

The moment he closed the door to the corridor, Hermione knew she was well and truly fucked. If he didn't linger too long and just got straight to the point of his visit, no one would interrupt him before he was done. When he taunted her, she tried to remove all traces of the fear that she was feeling from her face. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction. He'd probably been excited the moment he heard about her attack and found out she was in St. Mungo's. No doubt it was a big news story. Rita Skeeter must not have wasted any time writing another disgusting article about her. Maybe she would even put a fun spin on it accusing Hermione of being the one who murdered Hannah. Probably even used jealousy as a motive. Hannah had the marriage that Hermione only wished she had. Of course, how she could explain Hermione's own subsequent attack would be interesting to discover. Rita could be quite creative when the situation called for it.

"You're so helpless like this. Poor, little dear. No one is going to help you now."

William sat on the edge of her bed to stare down at her face. There was such anger in his eyes that Hermione failed to keep her fear under control. He was going to kill her. This was the moment that she'd been dreading for twenty years. At some point there was going to be a madman who ended her existence. She just thought it would be someone more like the Dark Lord or Antonin or Rodolphus. Maybe even Rabastan. There were a few times he'd gotten a little too rough during their private sessions in their shared office. It wouldn't have taken him much effort to end her exhausting existence then. Somehow she never expected that William Wood might actually be successful in his vengeance. She'd underestimated the man. That was her mistake.

"Is this how my little brother looked when you murdered him? Was he this afraid?"

There was a dangerous edge to his voice, a fury that he was only just able to keep under control. This man was a ticking time bomb. Only rage kept him going. She could almost pity him. Once upon a time that was all that kept her alive too. Without the reminder of the lives she needed to destroy, she would've curled in on herself when the existence she was handed became unbearable. Anger was powerful. The need for revenge even more so.

"What's so special about a little whore like you that you got to live and my little brother didn't? He was worth a thousand of you."

He wasn't wrong. Even Hermione had to admit that. The world would've been better if the horrible person she'd allowed herself to become in the aftermath of the lost war didn't survive. She'd become someone that was cold, dangerous and entirely too selfish. All that mattered was making it to the next day. She didn't care what bodies she had to climb over in the process. Along the way, she'd killed countless other Oliver Woods. They were all better than her, far better than she could ever be.

William's right hand covered her throat. Her bones had always been delicate. She'd inherited her mother's petite frame and small bone structure. It wouldn't even take much effort for a man of his physical prowess to crush her neck. When he added his left hand, she knew she was fucked.

If she discovered that she was the first person William Wood had ever murdered, she wouldn't have been surprised in the slightest. In fact, she would've been more shocked to learn that he'd killed before. There was a certain amount of confidence that a person who'd witnessed the light fade out of a person's eyes at their hands had that he simply didn't possess. He was hesitant at first, unsure in his movements. For a man who was brash and full of threats, to actually be faced with the task of committing the murder he'd been dreaming about, he was struggling. He was the sort of would-be murderer that she would've been easily able to persuade not to follow through with his plan if she had the use of her voice. It was a good thing for him that he had the presence of mind to silence her. While he likely did it to keep her screams from being heard by the staff of the hospital just outside in the corridor, it served an additional purpose. She could've easily talked him into walking away.

The pressure on her throat increased the more confident he became. Maybe it was the bold way she stared into his hurting eyes that gave him the added incentive he needed to fulfill the odious task. She wasn't sure. Didn't matter. He wasn't going to release her and she was oddly okay with that. Life had become a little too difficult for her lately. Having an escape that she didn't have to provide herself wasn't the worst option. It hurt, but it would all be over soon. She hoped that Antonin would be able to get Oliver out of their horrible country and take him somewhere they could both be happy. Brazil, maybe. Or to Africa with Alain. Oliver could learn a lot from Mr. Akingbade at Uagadou. He'd love it there and eventually, he'd forget to be sad about the horrible mother he'd been cursed with. And maybe Antonin could finally fall in love with a woman who loved him back. She'd been so cruel to him. He didn't deserve all of it.

She was lightheaded. Soon she would pass out and then if Wood didn't lose his nerve and stop too soon, it would be the end. The end of her pain, her fear, her struggle. She was ready. As she closed her eyes she thought about her husband and her son again and wished them nothing but happiness. Loud alarms sounded throughout the room, startling William enough that he let go of her throat. Hermione could hear shouts down the corridor and what sounded like running footsteps. Jumping off the bed as if it was on fire, he stared down at her with panic as she gasped and choked at the air filling her lungs.

"I'm not done with you yet."

His promise still hung in the air as he made his escape. Death wasn't ready for her just yet.