I hear the voices when they come to visit me, and I notice when they leave. Though they are each different, I cannot place them separately. They all say the same things.

"Get better soon, Hermione." Ron, maybe? Or Remus… Bill would say the same.

"We love you, Hermione." Probably Ginny or Luna, though it could be… I don't know.

"Wake up, dear. We miss you an awful lot." Definitely Mrs. Weasley.

Occasionally it will change, always the same voice telling me "We won, Hermione. You saved us all. You won the war. Why'd we have to lose you to do it?"

But who is it? I don't recognize the tone. And why are they telling me to wake up, I'm right here! I try to move my fingers, but nothing happens. I am frustrated, and a small whine slips out of my throat. Suddenly there is a commotion above my head and the room gets incredibly bright. I feel a weight lift off my whole body, like a blanket being snatched from a bed. I open my eyes only to snap them shut again. The lights go out and I try again, seeing only blurry shapes.

"Hermione, dear? How are you feeling?" Molly asks from the end of my bed. I only groan in response, my head feeling like it will crack with the strain of seeing things.

"Molly, not now. Hermione, look at me please." I swing my head to find the person attached to the voice, finally stopping at the face of Poppy Pomfrey. "Lovely dear, where does it hurt?" I can only gesture vaguely "Everywhere? Can't say I'm surprised. You depleted your magical core with that show." She pins me with a look that says I will have to explain myself later.

That will be an easy conversation, he killed Harry. I couldn't possibly stand for that. I try to vocalize this but only manage "'Ar-r-ry" but it seems to be enough. The mood turns somber and no one will look at me now.

"Go back to sleep, dear. We will talk when you're better." Madam Pomfrey held a potion to my mouth.

O-O'

I am back to full strength six months later, thanks in no small part to Madam Pomfrey, strictly enforced bed rest, and healing potions. I have come to terms with my newfound fame as The Girl Who Defeated Voldemort, and enlisted the help of Draco Malfoy to show me how to work my fame to my own gain (such as adding a Wizarding Studies course for first-year muggleborns, repealing most of the outdated werewolf legislations, and getting Harry a quaint burial next to his parents in Godrics Hollow.).

I have also had to come to terms with the side-effects of absorbing another magical core into my own. I now must wear glasses (Harry's eyesight truly was awful, and now mine is too) and I now take my tea more like he did (two sugars and a dash of milk, I used to take honey only). The only other pieces of Harry that I kept were his scars; all but the one he was famous for. I got all of the nicks he got fighting his way through the forests during 7th year, all the scratches from his years on the Quidditch pitch, and I got all of the scars from his years in the Dursleys' house. Those were the hardest to get used to, I can't fathom how Harry didn't retreat into rage every time he saw the reminders of how little they cared about him.

I still miss him, every day. But, I try to live my life as he would have wanted to live his; I have a job I enjoy and I stay close to my friends.

All was not well, but it was close enough.