Hermione didn't heal the way she was supposed to – the way they wanted her to. They told her to rest, and for the first few days she really did try. She cleaned the bath tub on her knees, scrubbing the porcelain so fiercely her shoulder ached; she enjoyed the pain. She took down the curtains and shook the dust from them, and then she swept the floor four times. She wiped the door frame and window sill with a soft cloth, and not once did she reach for her wand.
The first spell she tried was Lumos while she waited on the deck for Ron and Harry to come home. When they did, it was dark, and Harry found her when he tripped over her body. The impact woke her, and she forced a smile and a laugh and told them it was rude to make a lady wait so long she fell asleep in her vigil. She clutched his hand with both of her own, and he hauled her up and into a twirl.
"Apologies. We come bearing gifts?" He tried; in the darkness of night he bought her lie.
"…Gifts?" She quirked an eyebrow, holding him perhaps just a moment too long as the world still spun from his twirl.
"Just one really, but it's a good one." Ron stole her from Harry and swung her around in his own celebration. She sagged and closed her eyes, and flung her arm around Harry's neck too in the hopes that three would be too many people to spin. Together they lifted her from the ground and locked arms beneath her legs. In this chair, they marched her through the doors and to makeshift hospital room. On a bed, shackled by metal and magic and made docile by pain, was one Draco Malfoy.
"You brought me a ferret?" She choked and stared and rubbed her eyes when merely blinking failed to remove the man from the room.
Even as she stared, he shifted just enough to see her face. She could barely see the blue of his eye from the swelling and the bruise, but he met her gaze and mouthed "Mudblood" before the effort was too much and he lost his hold consciousness. She narrowed her eyes but they were swept in the kitchen with the tide of people starved for good news. Ron produced a bottle of whiskey, and even Kingsley took his turn. They ate too many crackers and the last of the cheese, and though Mad Eye growled about constant vigilance, even he had to admit that the capture of the youngest Malfoy was a streak of luck.
The celebration lasted for far too long, but Hermione ignored the residual pain behind her eyes with nothing more than determination. It was a good night – a great night even, and she held on to the laughter knowing that as long as it lasted, it wouldn't last long enough.
She didn't try to use magic again for days. Instead she freshened the spare rooms and plucked weeds from the grass. She cleaned out the fridge and presented Kingsley with a list. She prepared to cut him off with her hands on her hips, ready to tell him that starving the army wouldn't help them win the war when he surprised her with a small pouch of Muggle pounds and told her to spend it wisely. She was unable to apparate; he arranged for a portkey and watched her leave with a small frown.
Arriving in an alley behind a small Muggle store, she shopped quickly, loading a cart with pasta, rice, canned produce, and protein powders. Nobody took notice of the brown-eyed girl with the stick twisted in her hair; she was quiet and polite and thanked the clerk as she left. He bid her good day without looking up, and she angled the cart into the alley and shoved the bags up her arms just as the portkey took her away.
She returned to a quiet house and surveyed her treasures. She arranged the cold and frozen foods almost artfully and stepped back to survey her work. The sight of food – of choices! – delighted her and with a stupid grin she climbed on top of the counter to put away the nonperishables. Humming something tuneless from a childhood memory, she alphabetized food items and the smile never left her face.
"Merlin, Mudblood, you really are worthless. You can't even use a wand to put things away?" He was leaning against the door with a careless grace. He wore the chains around his wrists like jewelry and on his body, the faded robes with ragged hems looked roguish.
"If it isn't the amazing bouncing ferret…How did it feel, Malfoy?" She turned so quickly she nearly fell off the counter; instead, she banged the tip of her wand into the cabinet and it slipped from her hair to rattle across the floor.
"A pick up line? Granger, everyone said you were the smartest witch in our year – don't you know by now that your existence is a flaw, a failing of the universe? Don't you –" The scorn in his voice was tangible, but she didn't care.
"How did it feel to fall so far from grace that Daddy didn't spare the effort to come save you? Nobody has even been to the battle scene to retrieve your body for burial, Malfoy. How does that feel?" Her face was stained red in a blush that trickled behind her ears and dripped down her neck into the collar of her shirt but the tone of her voice could have frozen the equator. She wasn't used to drawing blood with her words, but he had taught her how to be cruel.
His eyes darkened and she could see the veins in his hands when he clenched them in to fists. He stepped closer to her and she could almost feel the heat of his anger against her skin. For a moment time stopped as he approached and for the very first time, she was afraid of him. She held her breath and looked into his eyes, trying to separate flecks of blue from the storm. The soft clink of the metal around his wrists startled them both, and he whirled away without speaking.
She exhaled roughly when he left and the sounds of the world rushed into her ears. A sneeze upstairs; the distinct pop of Apparation outside; the clunk of Mad Eye Moody as he paced within his room. It was too much – it was normal – it was disorienting because over it all, she heard his voice calling her worthless. After two weeks without magic, it struck a nerve.