Chapter 16

March 2001

Hermione took a deep breath and held it for the required three seconds and then let it go. Feeling the cool metal against her warm back, she shivered slightly and took another breath. Exhaling slowly once more she tried to stave off the panic that was threatening to crash down on her in waves. She hated not knowing. She. Hated. It. It was worse than anything else, that complete uncertainty over something she had no control over.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione turned towards the kindly Healer questioningly. All she received in return was a pitying glance and a hand motioning that she could pull her shirt back down. Hermione smoothed her cerulean blue, Muggle blouse down and straightened out her black pencil skirt that had ridden up slightly. Pushing a strand of hair into the clip at the back, she looked pleadingly up at the Healer. "Can't you tell me anything?"

The Healer didn't shift her eyes from the clipboard she was marking as she answered, "You know I can't, Miss Granger. Just be patient."

Hermione snorted. "Look, I've only got a babysitter for so long. I need to get going."

That got the Healer's attention. Her hazel eyes sharpened and her graying hair seemed to stand on end in its cropped state. She pulled her glasses down her nose, looking down at Hermione skeptically. "Babysitter? You have a child?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and answered petulantly, "Not naturally. He's my ward, Teddy." She tried to peer at the clipboard, "Can't I please at least leave and just have you owl me the results?" She really was uncomfortable in the stark white environment that characterized almost all hospitals, Muggle or Magical. It reminded her of too many people she'd seen in their last moments there. If ever she was going to develop claustrophobia, it would be in the hospital, enclosed by the sheer curtains on a bed of pure white stone.

The Healer looked at her sympathetically, "I'm sorry Miss Granger; it won't be too much longer. We just think that it would be better if you stayed for the news."

Hermione sighed. In her heart of hearts she already knew. Not the whys and wherefores, but the ultimate answer? Yeah, she knew. As always. She bit back the sinking feeling and concentrated on her beautiful blue shoes that she had splurged on just last weekend. She looked up as the Healer exited the small area and then with a huff of frustration, Hermione flopped backwards on the bed.

Closing her eyes, she contemplated the extreme enjoyment she derived from being kept hostage in the oh-so-comfortable white walled Hell, seemingly from a John Paul Sartre play. She'd been coming here for what seemed like forever. She mentally counted. 3 years. Merlin! 3 years she'd been coming to the blasted Healers in hopes they could tell her why she got dizzy spells, stomachaches that defied pain tolerances, migraines that would have her in bed for days and joints that couldn't seem to stay together. Ultimately it had something to do with Dolohov's curse, but none of the Healers, Unspeakables, Aurors, or other trained spells persons had ever been able to figure out what it was.

"Miss Granger?"

She sat up quickly and then groaned as gravity caught up with her head, leaving her disoriented and queasy.

"Miss Granger!"

She held up her hand. "One moment, if you would," she bit out. She closed her eyes tightly and willed the sensation away, gripping the bed tightly for anchor. As soon as it began to fade, she slowly opened her eyes and gave the five waiting Healers a nod to continue.

The Head Healer, a Mr. Puckle, cleared his throat and began in a placating tone, "Miss Granger, I think … well I'm pleased … er … that is to say, well we've figured out what's wrong with you."

"Alfred!" the earlier Healer hissed, clearly worried about his lack of tact.

Hermione interrupted quickly, "What exactly is wrong with me? Don't sugarcoat it or any such fluff, just say it and we'll all be much happier."

He grimaced at her wording. "Well that's just it Miss Granger, I'm not so sure you'll be happy. That curse seems to have done various things to your body. The only reason it's started to affect you now, so soon after, is because of how active you were during the war and directly after you received the cursing."

Hermione held up a shaky hand, "Wait … so, multiple things wrong and accelerating. Got it." She took a deep breath and asked softly, her former spirit having taken flight at the rather somber looks on the other Healers' faces, "What else is wrong?"

The earlier female Healer stepped up and took one of Hermione's hands in her own, "You … you can't have children dear. The curse … well it's a bit of an impossibility now. And even if you were to try … well, the baby would be exposed to too many problems within the womb to even give it much hope of a nine-month gestation period. That's also the reason for the stomachaches. There's a lot of tissue damage." Hermione let out a shuddering breath and a tear slipped down her cheek, but she wiped it away and nodded at the Healer to continue.

"You also have some severe neural damages in your upper spine. You mentioned that you don't have much feeling in you upper back around the spinal cord area?" Hermione nodded softly. "Well it seems that in times of severe stress, your muscles knot up and cause a severe amount of tension leading to those migraines of yours. All of the nerves focus on your head and not on the spinal cord, leading to the lack of sensory feeling. It's not something we can really treat, but massages would probably do you a world of good, in that they would lower the likelihood of knot development." The Healer stopped for a moment and ran a soothing hand over Hermione's now bowed form. She hated to do this to the young girl. She was only 21, it wasn't fair.

Hermione murmured brokenly, "Is that all?"

The Healer glanced up at her team and they shooed her on, "Well, no dear. The joints. Your joints are decaying at a faster than normal rate. However, that is something we can help treat. We should be able to slow it down with therapy and potions that help strengthen the cartilage in the joints."

Hermione gasped, as though she was drowning, "Can't I … couldn't I just … take a bottle of Skele-gro or something? Anything?"

The Healer chuckled softly, "I'm afraid not dear; Skele-gro only works off of the bone and cartilage traits you posses already. But unfortunately, we can only slow it down. We can't stop it. You'll probably be in a wheelchair by 60, if not before. Your ankles, knees, and hips seem to be the main joints affected – so far as we can tell your shoulders and neck are holding up wonderfully. So you'll still be self-mobile, even if your legs can't do the work full-time."

Hermione spluttered, her head coming up to look at the Healer's, face distraught, "But 60! That's hardly even middle-aged for a witch. Isn't there something?! Anything that you can do?"

The older Healer shook her head sadly, "There isn't anything as of yet, but from what I hear, medical advancements are being made everyday. Hopefully something will be here by that time. It's by no means the end of your life. You'd still be able to walk and such, but it will be easier and far less painful to simply use the wheelchair or a cane."

Hermione shook her head vehemently, "Never. Gods! It isn't fair."

"I'm so sorry, Miss Granger." The Healer looked at her depressed visage and worried, "Is there anyone I should contact to come pick you up?"

Hermione blinked and gave a bit of a hiccup and then, the Healer watched two more tears simply slip out of the young woman's already wet eyes, "No, there's no one. I'll just … I'll just head home." She nodded to herself and stood up shakily, the Healer's eyes widening. "Yes, Teddy. I've got to get Teddy." She looked up at the other 4 Healers standing uselessly by, snorted, and turned back to the Healer sitting on the bed. In her best business like tone, Hermione said, "Thank you. If you would owl me the medications I need to be on and the schedule you would proscribe for those therapy sessions, I would be much obliged. Now, I must go. Good day." With that, she marched out of the ward; head held high, back straight, face frozen – no other sign that she had just been told, she was, in effect, broken.

George was fiddling around with the stove trying to decide if the pasta was supposed to look like that or if he had simply cooked it wrong. He didn't remember it being mushy or sticky when Hermione made it, but she was late to their monthly dinner and he had taken the initiative to cook. He had some rather big news to tell her, so he was anxious for her to arrive, but figured that Teddy had put up a fuss or something else.

However, with another grimace at his pasta, he heard the floo activate and scrambled into the living room to catch the rather unflooable Hermione as she inevitably fell out. He took note of her puffy eyes, lack of a Teddy, and rather shaken appearance. Pulling her up softly he enveloped her in a huge hug and carried her over to the couch, announcing in a proud voice, "I've got a big announcement for you, Miss Granger."

She looked up at him and smiled weakly, "Eh? What's that George? You finally find that ear of yours?"

He grinned and tweaked her ear, "What would I want two ears for? Rubbish I say. No, it's a bit more significant than that I'm afraid." He took a deep breath, and held it for … well as long as he could until he turned blue.

Hermione giggled and poked his stomach, resulting in him blowing out all the air rather quickly. "Rude, Miss Granger," he exclaimed rather haughtily. Then he grinned and ran to the closed door to Fred's old bedroom. "I would like you to meet …" He opened the door a crack, "My new flat mate!"

Hermione gaped at him and then shrieked as a giant Old English sheepdog flew at her, tackling her on the sofa. George laughed happily and jumped into the fray. "Hermione, I'd like you to meet Fred. Fred, Hermione." The dog woofed and licked her cheek sloppily.

Hermione couldn't help but giggle and bussed George on the cheek. She knew it would do him good to have another living being in the apartment, and Fred was probably the best name possible since George still had the tendency to speak aloud to Fred – it was rather hard to stop after so many years, and to be honest, he really didn't want to.

He clapped his hands and stood. "Now then, dinner!" He bowed to Hermione and offered his arm, "My lady?"

She flounced, well as much as one can flounce when there is 80 pounds of big, fluffy white fur on your lap, off the couch and took George's arm.

"What are we having kind sir?"

"Er … Pasta, I think?"

"You think?"

"Well, it's kind of … stuck."

"Ah … pizza it is!"

"Yay!"

…

A little later while munching on pizza, Hermione finally gave up on ignoring George's frequent glances, and said, "Why don't you just ask already?"

He chuckled. "Because this is so much more annoying."

She rolled her eyes, "And?"

"And… what's up? We haven't talked in almost a month, what's going on in your life?" He asked seriously.

She nibbled on her pizza debating the various answers she could give.

The Healers give me 40 years to basically live my life.

I get to wheel around like a crazy lady!

I don't have to worry about having any surprises!

Dolohov was a fucking bastard.

"I slept with Lucius Malfoy." Well that certainly wasn't what I planned on saying.

"…WHAT?!"