A deep breath filled Hermione's chest. She opened her eyes. White space. All around her, the light was bright and unyielding to her tired eyes. She blinked rapidly so they would adjust to the sunlight, but they would not. She shut them against the assault, and rolled onto her side. Her chest hurt. She was sore. Her nose was dry, as if from some ailment she could not remember possessing. She felt warm, yet cold, and weakened. She cupped her hand over her eyes to further block the light from her lids, which was still managing to burn into her irises and send shooting pains back into her head. Slowly, she began to adjust. She removed her hands… rolled onto her back once more… and she took another deep breath. She sat up, and finally, managed to open her eyes. She was sitting in the middle of a vast, green field, plants tickling her exposed thighs and ankles… she wore a short, yellow dress. She rose. Where was she?
Draco sat on the cheaply cushioned bench outside the Intensive Care Unit of St. Mungo's, his head in his hands, shaking his leg anxiously. There'd been no word of her condition, yet. Occasionally a healer would run out from the room, send for another, and they'd be at it again. What had she been hit with? He'd cast a blocking spell, designed only to throw someone backward… still… could have done some damage if it hit just the right spot. What the Weasel had cast may have been another story. A damn sight more of his spells certainly had done some damage… the bandages on his arms and hands were proof of that.
He heard footsteps, but dared not look up. They were slow… slow was a bad sign, wasn't it? They'd hurry to deliver good news, surely. This was proper torture, this was.
"Coffee?" he heard. He lifted his gaze. Potter was standing between he and the wizard he'd love to send on a one-way trip to the blasted Dementors—who never had come—holding two paper cups, one in each hand, extended toward the two of them. Draco looked at his counterpart. He was sitting up against the wall, arms folded over his chest, head tilted down, not responding, or looking, to either wizard. Draco looked back to Harry, took the cup from him, and just held it. He watched a breath of steam slither out of it. He didn't even like coffee.
Potter looked back to Ron. He motioned as if to hand him the cup, but met with a stony sort of indifference. He sighed and placed the cup on a side table next to his vacant friend. He slouched against the wall, removing his glasses, and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his first and third fingers. Draco couldn't help but to watch him. Did he feel regret? Wasn't this, after all… Harry Potter's fault? Had he not stuck his nose where it didn't belong, and left he and Hermione on their bloody path, wouldn't she still be alive?
He felt a twinge in his gut. She was alive, he thought to himself. Healers don't heal the dead.
It should have been him, he thought, on the other side of those doors, with no one waiting for him out in this lobby. That was supposed to be this outcome… and he'd leave her, surely, with child—but a choice. Would she have it? Probably not, he decided. Why would she choose to carry a permanent reminder of her biggest mistake? She probably wouldn't. She was a logical girl. It was early enough still for her to have made the right call.
But that wasn't how it played out. One of them, him or Ron, had taken away her choices, tonight. One of the had altered the path of this story… and he was sure that if fingers came to pointing, they would fall in his direction… he was the odd man out… and they would probably be right. It seemed, one way or another, that it was always Draco Malfoy's fault… not Harry Potter's… not Weasley.
Another healer emerged, gloves wet with blood. His insides went swimmy. The one worthwhile creature he'd stooped to touch… and he'd managed to deal its final blow.
He rose, catching Harry's attention. He turned and started down the hallway.
"Hey! Where are you going?"
"I can't stay here," he answered.
"You can't be serious!" Harry pushed away from the wall, started to come after him.
"Let him go, Harry. He doesn't deserve to be here," the redhead chimed in for the first time since they'd left the Department.
"Shut up," Harry said crossly to Ron. "Malfoy!"
Hastily, Ron stood, glaring in the direction of Draco's repeating backside. "Why are you even surprised? Isn't that the Malfoy way? He can't be expected to clean after his mess. He has servants for that."
"Ron, sit down—"
"Not enough for him to talk her into sleeping with his entitled arse. Oh, no. He had to kill her as well, "the filthy Mudblood."
Draco's hand was wrapped around Ron's throat. He didn't remember turning around, or doubling back… he saw only red and heard only Ron's squawking breaths as he choked the life out of him. Harry's arms were grasping at Draco's shoulders, trying desperately to pull him back.
"Stop it! Stop it BOTH of you! She wouldn't want this! We're going to get sodding KICKED OUT!"
A wizard swinging a wand in a long case came 'round the corner, a badge on the hat on his cap dictated that he was one of the Peace Keepers around St. Mungo's. Harry managed to wedge himself between the two men, pushing Ron's back against the wall, and Draco away from him. The momentum sent Draco back against the wall making him bow out and fall onto the bench. The three of them panted, Ron occasionally coughing here and there. The Peace Keeper looked between the three men, looked Draco up and down, and turned away, walking back down the hallway. Harry straightened his glasses and pushed off of Ron, directing him back into his seat. He looked harshly between both men.
"Now, listen. She's my best bloody mate, in there. Doesn't matter how she got here. She's here. All three of us care for her—"
Ron made some gesture of disapproval and Harry turned quickly on him. Ron looked away, arms spread back over his chest.
"We all care for her… and she, for us. When she wakes up, she's going to want us all here, and to be supportive of her. Since we've ruined her bloody day, here… I'd say the LEAST we could do is to stop grabbing each other's bollocks and relax."
Draco lay his head on the wall looking up and away from them both. This is why they all followed him, he thought… so bloody levelheaded.
Hermione had been walking for several minutes. Her hands were skimming the falling leaves from the tall willows all around her. She was taken with the beauty of this place, but she couldn't remember where she was going, or why she was here. She thought walking, it would come to her, but it hadn't. She didn't really mind, though… the breeze was lovely… and it was some deserved time away from the stress of her research. So far, she seemed to be the only sign of life, about. No birds, animals, or even insects. She couldn't hear the cicadas, only the wind in the tall grass and the leaves… and the sound of her own bare feet on the earth.
That's when it caught her eye: a blur of moment, blues and whites, as it dove into the tall grass. She stopped herself, eyeing it.
"Hello?"
There was no answer… but she could have sworn that she saw the grass arch away from itself in a V down to a point no more than three feet above the ground… was it peering out at her?
"I'm not going to hurt you…" she said, gently. She gasped when a weightless feeling took her, and she began to float up, up against the trunk of the tree.
"Hey!" she called, but she was floating ever higher, until finally, her backside bumped against a branch, and she was sitting upon it, roughly 25 feet above the ground. She held the trunk of the tree for safety, looking every which way.
From the tall grass, a little boy, no more than five or six came walking out… he wore tennis shoes, khaki shorts, and a blue, button down shirt. His blonde hair was pushed out of his eyes to one side, and his large, chestnut eyes were peering up to her from the ground. He stopped at the foot of the tree and watched her.
"Did… did you put me here?" she asked him, shakily. He nodded to her. She nodded back, grasping the knots in the tree to steady herself as she craned to look down at him.
"Think I could… come down?" she asked. He turned his back to her, then, looking around the field carefully. He sat down against the trunk of the tree in the dirt, and pulled a small book from his pocket, and some colorful pencils. Hermione watched as he began to draw. She felt herself growing impatient, looking for a way down, but saw nothing.
"Great," she said to herself, sitting back against the tree… so much for her relaxing walk… she was now at the mercy of a powerfully magical five-year-old boy, no parents, no language between them, and with her wand out of pocket, she saw no way down from her prison.
The healer stood before them, suited up in sterile clothes, ready to work, but was meeting a blockade in the small room they had been relocated to. Draco didn't quite understand why they were still talking about this.
"It's you she's placed in charge of decisions like this that need to be made, Mr. Weasley."
"That was more than five years ago," Harry was arguing, desperate to keep Ron's opinions to himself. "Surely, you could reach out to her parents."
"It's typical," the healer was saying in a calm, steady voice due to the tension in the room, "for people to have a difference of opinion about these things, Mr. Potter. Now, her records only indicate that we are to implore Mr. Weasley to make decisions in the absence of Ms. Granger's consent."
"Just terminate it—"
"Mr. Weasley is in no fit state," Harry was all but hissing, hand firmly on Ron's shoulder as Ron struggled to find his feet in the discussion. Draco was ready to explode.
"I can give you a few minutes to talk," the healer said, with a note of finality, "I understand what you all must be going through is quite extraordinary and a difficult decision for any man to make for a woman. I'll leave you all… but a decision must be made in the next half hour, for her own sake, as well as the child." He bowed to them a little, then turned and left. Draco followed him to the door, watched him walk back down the hall, and speak to a helping aid… he wished to be one of them in this situation… he had no voice.
"Ron, bloody think about this!"
"Harry. Tell me that she wants that baby. Tell me, and I'll tell the healer."
"It's not our PLACE to decide for her, Ron!"
"He made it real clear, mate. Save it now, it's likely to take her with it in eight months. Its never gonna be healthy. It's been bloody damaged. You want me to saddle her with that for the rest of her life?! When it could KILL her?"
"I want you to leave it up to HER! She can always have a second surgery—"
"Just as risky as leaving it be! You heard him, Harry! Taking it from her today is next to risk-free."
Draco knew he should be fighting for her… but what would she want? He'd never even had the chance… to admit to her that he'd made that first initial decision on her behalf… he was as bad as the weasel, in a way… though his decision hadn't cost anything its life. They hadn't exchanged even one word about kids. Did she want kids? Did she… like kids?
"Does she… like kids?" he heard himself ask, quietly. The heaving men turned to look at him.
"What?" Ron snapped at him.
"Kids. Does… does she like them?"
Ron looked ready to smack him. Harry's brow was furrowed.
"Why is he still here?!" Ron asked to no one in particular, throwing his hands up and turning away.
"She does," Harry said to Ron's backside. He turned back to Draco. "Like kids. She does."
"Does… she want kids?" Draco asked, looking at the floor. Harry was pondering over Draco in a way that made him very uncomfortable. He couldn't look to him. He could barely answer.
"Eventually," Harry said, quietly. Ron turned back to them, shaking his head.
"Yes, she bloody wants kids. She wants a whole CHICKEN COOP full of half-witted Malfoy spawn who can't rightly sit by themselves, and start fires with their thoughts when they get angry, and think they can fly by flapping their bloody arms. That's sure the dream, old boy. Good work!"
"He didn't say it would be dangerous," Harry impressed, turning back to Ron. "He said…"
"Damaged," Ron said, blinking at him. "He said damaged."
"What does that mean?" Draco asked, looking between the two of them.
Ron was still shaking his head, looking anywhere but at Draco.
"Well," Harry started, "I would guess he means… there will be complications… it might be a complicated birth… it might be born a squib… it might not be able to control itself, magically… it could mean a lot of things, really. The possibilities are endless."
"A squib?" Draco asked. Ron laughed, obnoxiously, turning away.
"If it was any other girl, Malfoy, I'd be bloody happy for you. That's just what you need to gain a little humility."
"It isn't any other girl," Harry pressed to Ron, looking ready to start handing down the beatings.
"I know that," Ron shot back at him. "And that's why I'm telling the bugger to bloody take it out of her."
"Hermione wouldn't want you—"
"Who would she want?" Draco asked, suddenly.
"What?" Harry asked.
"Who would she want to make the decision?" Draco repeated. The doors swung open, and a frazzled blonde with long, curly hair like ribbons and large chestnut eyes came through the door with a rolling suitcase drug behind her.
"Ronald!" she bellowed, running to him, throwing her arms around him. They embraced for seconds- long enough for Ron to soften, to hug her back, to close his eyes, and then she pushed him away, slapping his face.
"How could you lie to me about this?! She's my COUSIN!"
"Hullo, Elsa," Harry said, smiling sheepishly.
"Hey, Harry," she said, eyes still on Ron who was holding his cheek. "He gets off the phone with Neville Longbottom and strands me in the Houston Airport with both our things saying that Harry needs his help with something and just DISAPPEARS! I ask Ginny for a bloody ride when I land in London, and what does she say to me? Oh! Harry is at the HOSPITAL WITH HERMIONE, AND RON MAY BE THE ONE WHO PUT HER THERE!"
Harry stepped between them as Elsa grew ready to strike him again. "It was an accident, Els, I mean it! She and I both—we put ourselves in the way, it was not intended for either of us—"
"I don't care! He KNEW there was something going on with her and he LIED to me! How could you?!" She was hollering at Ron over Harry's shoulder. Draco was watching them, watching them bicker, steal the spotlight… while Hermione was internally bleeding in the other room. He glanced at a large vase sitting on a side table next to a couch and a box of Kleenex. He lifted it with one hand, and swung it against the wall. It burst into pieces, loudly, shattering itself over the floor.
The room fell quiet. He raised his eyes to each one of them.
"Can we talk about Hermione now, please?" he asked, solemnly.
Hermione had been watching the boy for over an hour, by now. His pencils flicked across the parchment in the book easily, and he had taken hardly any notice of her. Occasionally she thought she saw him peering out of the corner of his eye, just over the edge of his shoulder, but as quick as she thought so, he went back to his drawing.
Her back to the tree trunk, she was waiting for the moment when watching the boy would tire her out and she would plummet to the ground, to her death. She sighed.
"When are you going to let me come down?" she asked him. He didn't seem to hear her- or at least, he never paused. She drummed her fingers against the bark of the tree. "I'm not going to hurt you," she tried, again.
"I know," the boy said. She smiled.
"Okay. Great. So… I can come down, then?"
He continued to draw. She closed her eyes. "Are you afraid of me?" she asked him.
"No."
"Then why are you keeping me so far away?"
"So you don't get lost," he said. She peered down at him, again. She tried to see what he was drawing, but over his shoulder, she couldn't.
"I'm going to get lost?"
"Aren't you, now?"
She hadn't really an answer for that. She didn't know where she was, but she didn't feel altogether lost, either.
"Where are we?" she asked him.
"A safe place," he answered.
He was packing up, she realized… slipping the pencils back into a pouch he had taken them out of. He was flipping his notebook shut, and he was standing up. He turned to face her. Large, round, chestnut eyes stared up at her. He raised his hand as if to clasp hers, though far away, and she felt her weight shift, and she slid down the air toward the ground. Her belly jumped when her feet touched the ground, again. She found her hand in his.
It's time to go," he told her.
He was staring out the window of the waiting chamber and into the wing of the Hospital… healers, apprentices, and assistants alike… busy. Nude shades of greens and creams, tans, and whites. So sterile. The magic here was all… new… fresh… stinging. It made him feel uncomfortably awake, like he might vomit.
All around him, they were silent. They were waiting… waiting on him, he supposed… his explanation… his reasoning. Ron faced the wall- his lover to his right, consoling him resentfully, looking down… always looking down… not forgiving him, just yet, for his lies… Harry was pacing, one wall to the next, stopping feet from Ron, then turning, and walking feet away from Draco. The vase he had broken was still in pieces on the floor, none of them yet bothering to magic them back together again… all too afraid to speak, lest something else in the room become tragically broken… and Hermione's life still hung in the balance.
"Where are her parents?" he heard himself ask, as if from another room, over a loud speaker. It startled him… but the others seemed unaffected. Had they even heard him?
"They're in Germany," he heard Elsa say, twisting a bit of her pretty blonde hair, nervously. "They like to vacation, this time of year... usually Hermione goes with them, but…" she trailed off. She would not look Draco in the eyes. He took back to staring out the window.
"None of us is right to make this call," he said, calmly.
"Some of us less than others," Ron added.
Harry sat down on the bench, elbows on his knees, leaning down over his hands. He sighed.
"We're not talking about the most important thing," he said, at last.
"What's that?" Elsa asked.
"What's in that room does not just belong to Hermione." He stood up, and with less than a little coldness, he looked to Draco.
"It is yours, isn't it?"
"Bloody difference does that make?" Ron asked, facing them at last. "It's inside Hermione. That's all that matters."
"Is it?" Harry asked again, eyes on Draco. He felt himself going red. He looked to the floor.
"I don't see any proof," Ron shot to Harry. Harry glowered at him.
"Can you even hear yourself? What exactly are you suggesting?"
"Been a long time since she and I been close, Harry. Not saying I'd blame her—to need more than this one, here." Elsa's mouth fell open. Ron looked to her, as if suddenly remembering she were in the room, at all.
"I don't know you, right now," she said to him. She walked across the room and stared out the same window Draco had stepped away from. His gaze followed her, then back to Harry.
"I think it is," he said more to himself than to anyone else. "I don't see… how it could be anyone else's."
"Doesn't change anything," Ron said, again. Finally, Draco challenged himself to look into his face, and at last… he caught a glimpse of something in Ronald Weasley he understood. His eyes were glassy—wet. He was shaking. His lip was curled. His cheeks were blotchy and his hair had been haphazardly pushed out of his face. The hatred, the fear, was written all over him... all over his stance… his body language, his features, it was all around him… and it was all for Draco Malfoy. The girl who was supposed to be his girl... the girl he tossed away… had been taken by the man he despised more than any other… and now, she might die because of it. He would hate him too. In some ways, he already did.
"I know," he said. "You've got the call… nothing the rest of us can do about that. All I want to ask… when the healer comes back… is to try and think of her as she is… don't add me into the equation… make the decision she'd want you to make. I'll admit, I don't know what that is. I don't envy your position. Whatever you decide to do, let it be for her. You'll never forgive yourself if you make the wrong call, whichever that is."
For a moment, the room was quiet… he read a mixture of emotions on all their faces… but just the one he was trying to reach was of interest to him now. Ron was visibly trembling. His gaze was locked to him, though he could see he was struggling with it… like holding onto a live wire… finally he managed to break away from his gaze.
"Like I'd make it for you," he answered, looking only at the floor. Draco nodded, took a deep breath, and stepped past Elsa, and out of the room.
"He's joking," Ron said, incredulously, as the door swung shut. The three of them looked at each other in a moment of silence, wondering what had just transpired between the lines… and then the door opened again, and the healer stepped back into the room.
"So," he began, "what have you decided, Mr. Weasley?"
She walked with the boy hand in hand through the field. It was like a shade of Muggle Heaven, this place, she reckoned. It wasn't a Garden of Eden, but it wasn't quite reality, either. The colors were so livid, so fresh, so alive… nothing marred the perfect picturesque nature of this place. The sky was an almost unknown shade of blue… she was infatuated. She could stay here forever.
"We can't stay here forever," the boy said, as if reading her thoughts.
"Why not?" she asked him, half-serious. "Who would miss us?"
"We just can't," he answered. She looked down at the boy. He was strange. So serious.
"Do you live here?" she asked him.
"For now," he said. She pondered over that answer.
"Where are your parents?"
He looked forward down their path, leading her onward. She could hear the voices, now, of people in the distance.
"What's that?" she asked. They rounded a corner into a clearing, and she saw them… Draco and Ron… fighting… to the death. Wands at the ready, pointed, shouting, they were bloody and screaming… and then she was running… running with Harry… and the little boy, he was reaching for her.
"Don't!" she heard him shout as she hurdled toward the fight...
He made sure it was her room before he walked inside… her name was on the door… her chart was on the wall, and upon it he could read the same word he'd heard the Healer echo just minutes before… "Damaged."
He walked in and saw her, white as a sheet, not moving, not breathing… kept alive, he saw, by the various potions and spells nearby. It all felt too clean, too closed in. He walked to her bedside and sat down.
He moved a hand toward her hair, ran it through her curls… got stuck. He smiled in spite of himself. His hand left her hair, stumbled over her chest, over the blanket, and rested on her belly. What was happening in there, he wondered. What was "damaged" within this powerful woman that she couldn't heal? Didn't matter, he decided. It was better not to dwell on what he guessed would cease to exist by this time, tomorrow. He couldn't learn to love what had never truly been… not the way he'd accidentally learned to love her. He simply wanted to say goodbye.
"I'm not really good at this sort of thing," he said to her, looking at her pale face, her trembling eyelids. "Not even sure you can hear me… but it's better that you're asleep for this. Although... to see you brassed off again would certainly be a treat, I'll admit." He waited, listening to the faint churning of the potions on the pots nearby… the ones that would decide his girl's fate when the healers arrived. "When you wake up… you're going to want to hex me sideways for leading you this far... for letting this happen to you. I don't blame you. I made a right mess of things. But I can't stay... much as your 'throw myself to the wolves' nature is starting to rub off on me... despite best attempts. It's not right. One of us has to stay the course. It can't be you. I've put you through enough."
He studied her cherubic face... leaned forward to kiss her. Inches from her lips, he felt her sharp intake of breath. He paused, drew back. She coughed.
"Ron…" he heard her mutter. He cleared his throat. He stood up from the bed.
"I get it," he said, quietly.
"Excuse me, Sir," he heard from behind him. He turned. "We need the room." A team of Healers stood behind him in the doorway. He nodded toward them. They filtered around Hermione's bed, setting up equipment and getting to work. He turned from her and headed for the door, her eyes still closed. He looked back to her. "Merlen, I hope this turns all right for you..." he said, hand clasped upon the door. With one more parting glance... he felt the words slip from his lips without another thought on it: "I love you," he whispered.
The door swung shut behind him. Hermione's eyelids pursed, then loosened. She coughed once again… "Don't hurt him, Ron."
"Relax, ma'am," the healer said calmly, clasping her shoulder. "Everything's gonna be okay." They got to work.
She awoke as if from a dream in her bed, head pounding, lights too bright… immediately she thought of the fight… Ron, and Draco… the little boy. She tried to sit up.
"Don't sit up too quickly," she heard. A hand pressed down on her shoulder. She tried to focus on the figure.
"Draco…"
"No," she heard. The hand began stroking her shoulder, now. Calming her… comforting. She tried to relax on the pillow. She was blinking rapidly to focus her eyes.
"Ron?" she asked.
"I couldn't leave you," he said. Finally he was in her full vision. Behind him sat Elsa and Harry. Elsa had tears in her eyes. Harry's brow was deeply furrowed. In the corner, to her astonishment, she saw Neville. She peered around them.
"What happened?" she asked. Harry stepped forward.
"There… was a fight… Draco and Ron-"
"I remember," she said, faintly. Her head was spinning. Everything hurt.
"I'm okay now?" she asked. She watched the four of them exchange looks.
"Where's Draco?" she asked. Her heart rate was accelerating rapidly. Her gaze turned harshly on Ron.
"Did you hurt him?"
"Hurt him?! The bugger took off when the faintest notion of bloody responsibility—"
"Ron-" she heard Elsa urge.
"What?" she interrupted them. "Took off where?!"
"Hermione…" Harry was stepping in to her right, taking her hand, bending down to his knees to approach her at eye-level. "We need to talk… about the baby."
"The baby?" she was confused. She looked from face to face… and then she remembered… she remembered the reason it had all happened… the reason Harry had grown suspicious, the reason they'd been imprisoned… the reason, she was sure, that she'd been sent to St. Mungo's and not simply healed by her friends.
"Is it…" she didn't want to ask. She didn't know which of the many possible answers to hope for.
"It's alive," Harry said. Hermione looked to Ron.
"You…" she said, astonished. He wasn't looking at her. He was looking at his hands by her side. She leaned toward him. "You're my Emergency Contact… I never…"
"It's what you would have wanted," he said. Hermione looked at Harry, who was smiling weakly at his friend.
"I can't believe it survived," she said. Harry cleared his throat.
"It's alive, Hermione… but… it's not as it was- err... not as it should be. The Healers all say… it's damaged. These cases are hard to predict. They can go one way or the other… it could be just fine… it may not be able to walk… it may not survive to term… it may be born a squib… and there's a highly likely chance that if it doesn't survive to term... it'll try to take you with it-"
"What do you mean Draco 'took off'?" she asked, looking at Ron. Ron startled, blinked a few times.
"He didn't say where he went, Hermione. We thought he stayed with you, but he left. The healer said he bolted before they opened you up."
"Probably felt guilty," Neville cut in, and she watched Elsa nod. Harry didn't seem convinced, and she honed in on it.
"He wouldn't have…" she began, but she trailed off. A thought struck her suddenly that she couldn't believe avoided her until this moment. It wasn't the baby, she realized. It wasn't guilt over her… or fear, or anything else. He went to finish the job they had set out to do… and after all this… he didn't think she would come along. He had another thing coming.
"Hermione, I think now what we need to talk about is—" Neville began. Hermione pulled the many lines of potions and fluids going into her body out at the hilt. They circled around her, trying to soothe.
"I need to get out of here."
"Hermione, this baby is already damaged," Elsa said, stepping forward to join the circus. "We need to consider that it may not be strong enough to keep at all you've been doing with Draco—"
"Or it may be born with intensified abilities," she cut in. She was staring straight ahead at the wall, remembering the little boy… the blonde curls… all that power. Her son. She fanned away the magical cloud of intensified oxygen from over her head.
"I'm going after him," she said.
"You can't!" Ron said. He moved to grab her arm as she swung her leg over the side of the bed. She pulled his gaze into hers.
"Thank you for saving him," she said to him, earnestly, a note of seriousness in her voice. "I appreciate everything you've all done for me. For us. Don't follow me. Don't track me. Don't try to stop me in anyway… or you'll get hurt. It's a promise."
And with that, Hermione Granger was gone.