She turned in her sheets, unable to lie any longer, overhearing them decide over her future. With legs dangling over the edge, she spotted her blouse and linen trousers neatly folded on the chair at the bed's lower end, robes carelessly tossed upon them. The bright, clear, empty sky outside was lying to her with its peacefulness.
She looked up: Only the candle on Madam Pomfreys desk was still lit, judging from the matt golden glow above. Quickly dressing into uniform, she resisted the urge to reach for Snape's potion.
So 'inducing selective stasis' had been illegal in his times at Hogwarts. Her mind pointed out the connection between his use of liquefying the body on purpose 'only once' as a likely reference to Bellatrix abortion, but the rest of her refused to accept this conclusion. He had handed the potion to her as ailment to her inefficient attempts at Occlumency. Solidifies the mind. But McGonagall certainly guessed their relationship – she managed to suppress a shiver – to be a lot more physical than it would ever be.
If she had been sentenced to caring for the products of her magic, she might as well take a good look at them, before McGonagall announced it officially to her in the morning. She slipped into her shoes. Peaking left and right, she stepped from her cabin as quietly as possible.
Next to her, behind her back when she had been lying down, was Ginny without arms. The picture of her, hiding behind the stone pillar in the corridor, sprang to her mind: That was Ginny, overwhelmed, not yet ready to fight back. Hermione tiptoed closer. Her red hair lay loosely on the pillow, spread all over the sheets. In putting it together to place it over her shoulder, Hermione discovered it had shed. She struggled not to shriek, casting the long red threads into a bin next to the bed as if they had bitten her like fiery snakes. Ginny did not move while she recoiled from the cabin.
Four beds in the row were empty, but their sheets tossed, blanket carelessly thrown away. She spotted several dark spots on the ground floor next to one of them. Perhaps Squad members had been treated here, the blood might have dripped from Notts nose. Recalling his attempted attack on Ginny – original Ginny, she permitted herself to think -, Hermione wished the blind version of her friend had broken not only his nose. She had reached the end of the infirmary. Even if Madam Pomfrey permitted her patients to wander freely at night, Hermione doubted she allowed them to leave the Hospital wing without her permission, and had certainly placed any kind of alarming charm on the door. She turned to pass by the opposite row of the beds. First one was neatly dressed, a large, fresh candle ready to illuminate the scene. Hermione had watched Madam Pomfrey dial their glow to different extends at various occasions, she guessed this single candle could dive the cabin into bright light at a flick of her wand, if the nurse deemed it necessary. The table beneath was positioned a little too far to be reached from someone lying in this bed. She sized up the distance between entrance and the bed. An older student might have easily carried someone hurt up the stairs, only to find his strength leaving him at the doorstep. This spot was reserved for unexpected patients and emergencies, Hermione concluded.
Another two beds were empty and clean. Then Hermione found herself standing at the lower end of Ginnys bed. She hesitated. She could cope with blind and bald Ginny, but the savagely hurt version of her friend, coughing up blood and her intestines frightened her deeply. It's my fault she's here at all, Hermione chastised herself. The product of my magic. Now don't be such a coward. She stepped up between the dressing screens.
No wrinkle in her face, no freckle in the wrong spot gave away which Ginny lay in front of her, but she immediately realized this not to be the original version of her friend. Breathing was slow, deep, and peaceful, red hair placed carefully on the pillow, unlike disabled Ginny. Yet, Hermione knew, this version of her was dying in her sleep.
The table carried some gauze swaps, tweezers, transparent liquid, a dimmed candle and several potions, one in front unsealed. She guessed it to be deliberately left open. A faint, heavy floral scent crept into her nose, reminding her of holidays in France.
"I had to put her in a coma. Pain would be unbearable."
Hermione was used to a stern , dismissive look on the face of people running into her this time of night, but then, Madam Pomfrey was not a teacher. In fact, her expression was blank, a trace of kindness in the creases around her mouth and at the outer corner of her eyes left behind, but otherwise unwilling to betray anything to even a most vigilant observer.
"Help me with her." The nurse waved her wand. When the candle lit a few levels, Ginny stirred in the midst of them. She put it back to her pockets, took a swap of gauze into the tweezers, added two drops of potion and swiped Ginny's lips wit it. Her stirring faded.
"You may never use more than three drops of this on a single patient within four hours", she said. "If someone doesn't react to the sedative within ten minutes, they'll need something else. Come on now, we'll turn her while she's free from any pain. Over to the other side, please."
Hermione complied, uncertain what to expect when the sheets slipped.
"You'll get used to it", Madam Pomfrey whispered. Hermione emptied her expression, she did not want the nurse to comment on her inner turmoil.
"Hold her arm on the chest, and pull up the knee, so you've put up the leg", the nurse told her. Robes were largely hampering her movements, so Hermione quickly cast them over the familiar simple chair at the end of the bed. Ginnys limbs put up resistance against her touch.
"Pull her over without twisting the back. I'll stuff these pillows under her, then you can let got."
"Okay."
Hermione found it much more difficult to actually perform a synchronous move on the body than she had expected. Madam Pomfrey's slim and dry hands pushed the cushions against Ginnys back swiftly, molding them against her back with diligence.
"Let go. You did well. Next time, try to grab her shoulder and the hip, keeping the leg in position with your elbow. It's less uncomfortable for a patient to be turned, then."
"You do this alone, usually? All the time when someone can't move on their own?"
"Yes, sure. I did it with you when you were petrified, in your first year."
"Second."
"Ah, well, you can't remember all the details, can you." The nurse was not asking for an apology.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because, Miss Granger", she whispered, drawing her wand to dial down the light, "This is what you will be spending your days with when you assist me in caring for Ginny Weasley. That is, each one of them." She flicked it, and the level returned to its previous state. She stirred again. Madam Pomfrey wiped her lips with a single drop of sedative. Ginny slipped back into oblivion.
"This Dark Magic transcends my ordinary remedies", she said, "For someone naive to sedatives, she needs an awful lot to stay asleep. Come, finish rounds with me."
"Who was in here?", Hermione asked, keeping her voice low in the dark, pointing to the empty mattress.
"Miss Weasley did not make it, I am afraid", the nurse replied. Registering Hermiones shocked expression, she added, "The one who suffered internal injuries from – well – in lack of a more appropriate term, from her birth."
"One of them was – created – with severe chest wounds and – uhm", Hermione fought down sickness first, " - considerable loss of blood."
"That would be her, then."
"Madam Pomfrey?"
"Hm?"
"What happened to Ginny? Each of them." Hermione felt painfully ambiguous, but her rationality, curiosity even, took hold of her: She had to know.
Madam Pomfrey must have read the anxiousness on her face. "Truth is, we can't say for sure, either", she answered. "Professor Snape examined them -"
Was it her imagination or did she keep a very close look on Hermiones expression at the mention of her teachers name?
" - but said he couldn't be sure. Multiplying charms may not be used on human beings, and there's no record of anyone ever ignoring this rule, so we can't rely on any reports of former – applications. Luckily, Miss Weasley, as she has been born and raised to her parents, had her wounds treated by him successfully and been able to leave after two rounds of blood replenishing potion." Hermione felt a rush of relief. Her fried had suffered no lasting damage from her messed up wandwork.
"It looks, though, as if ..." Madam Pomfreys voice trailed off.
"Yes?"
"It looks as if her copies – well – display an accelerated dissolution of cellular integrity."
"I beg -"
"They'll die", she whispered. "The rate of decay indicates indisputable results."
"It's not a question if, but when?", Hermione rephrased, aghast.
"Precisely. - I've heard people say that you were the brightest -"
"Don't say it", Hermione cut across her, eyes watering. "Just don't."
"I presume I can save you the lecture on never using magic that's not suitable to the object it's supposed to be performed on?", Madam Pomfrey said, without a trace of pity. "While you're here, I'll hand you several antidotes, painkillers, sedatives and other potions. You may never use them in a way I did not explicitly allow you to. Do you understand?"
"Yes." Hermione dearly wished to escape the situation, withdraw to her bed, and scream into her pillow.
"I will teach you how to tend wounds, but you will never change bandages without my permission."
"Okay."
"You shall respect a patients wishes, students and teachers alike, and never reveal anything you see here to a fellow student, or someone else who is not involved in treatment in the first place."
Hermione nodded.
"Do you agree, Miss Granger?"
"Y-yes", she replied, hardly withholding sobs.
"Then go, rest now", the nurse said, "I've got walleyes to manufacture, and fitting them to Miss Weasley will take most of my morning. You can't help me with that, so you might as well sleep."
Being addressed as a resource at Madam Pomfrey's disposal was something she would have to get used to. She tiptoped back to the cabin she had woken up in, trying to prevent her mind from imagining meeting Ron the next morning, or Harry, and dreaded facing any of the Ginnys who were still alive.
The nurse woke her at sunrise to help blind Ginny dressing properly. Ginny had been buttoning her blouse first knob into second whole when Hermione sat next to her, telling her to try again. After several feeble attempts to close her button tape properly, she took over. It felt strange to get so close to her friend, but blind Ginny was grateful for her assistance. She kept her eyelids lowered, saving Hermione to gaze into emptiness, but could not cover her baldness quite so easily. Hermione tore a clean pillowcase apart by hand, unwilling to use magic around the girl, and made a headscarf from it. She mused whether Ginny might prefer something more colorful than the blank white cloth, but decided against changing it by magic. Blind Ginny would never recognize the difference, but that was not the main reason keeping her from performing a simple staining charm: If she was to witness this version of her friend die in the next few days, with nothing to prevent this turn of events, then it might serve her own mental health if Ginny did not look too much like Ginny in the meantime. She seemed pretty satisfied with the pillowcase covering her head at all.
"Madam Pomfrey, may I see the walleyes for her? If you're done with them already?"
"Yes, sure. I'll get them. Change the swaps and trenches in the meantime, will you."
Hermione did as she was told, but found herself leaving her wand tucked deeply in her pockets. When washing her hands, wrists and forearms over the ancient sink next to Madam Pomfreys desk, the nurse called her to a remote chamber just behind the emergency bed.
"Those should be suitable."
Hermione recoiled in shock. In the midst of what she might have called a work shop, light brown eyes of the Weasley women stared at her from the flawless mannequin of an upper womans body, blinking friendly.
"Would it be possible to change their color?", Hermione squeezed out.
"In my training, we were taught to aim at the largest similarity possible when creating replacements for body parts", the nurse frowned upon her.
"And you've done remarkably so. I'm just not sure whether I can stand – looking at her.", Hermione gulped heavily. "And since it's a temporary spare..."
"I see. - Sorry, that was an awful think to say." Madam Pomfrey flicked her wand, and the eyes turned to an icy grey. They looked vaguely familiar, but Hermione could not pin down where she had seen them last time. "That's the color of someone I couldn't save here. But she suffered a fate much worse than death, so I've got no issues in closing them – again. In peace."
"Thank you."
"We'll keep this from Miss Weasley. They won't enable her to see color again, but light and dark", the nurse explained, "It's very advanced magic to recreate an eyeball, and I'll have to check with the healer from St. Mungo's anyway before I set them in. There's no need for you to stay and wait for him. Go have some breakfast, it shouldn't be too crowded at this hour", she nodded toward the window. The sky was bright red, a shade much more suitable to events of the night, Hermione mused. She hurried to the Great Hall, but found herself unable to eat anything at all, images of empty orbits, screaming Luna, flying curses and bursting intestines still vivid in her mind. When the first crowds were spilled from their dormitories to the tables, she rose, heading for the prefects bathroom, wishing to meet not even Ron or Harry. McGonagall called out to her soon as she had stepped from the stairs leading to third floor.
"A word, Miss Granger."
Those turned out the most shameful, abysmally guilty thirty minutes she had ever spent in company of a teacher.
"... you will spent your mornings and evenings with Madam Pomfrey, assisting her in rounds. You may be excused for lessons and exams, but no other activities, may they be school related of for leisure. This incident has been added to your permanent record and will be taken under advisement. I am sad to say, since our headmistress keeps close contact to the Ministry, school records might influence your chances should you ever decide to apply for Auror training. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Professor."
"I must impress upon you the severity of your actions", McGonagall said quietly. Hermione had preferred her to yell. This calm, silent disappointment was much harder to bear than any insults the Squad might have thrown at her. "There's a reason why we don't teach conjuring to younger students."
"Madam Pomfrey explained it to me. There are specific restrictions for each kind of magic, one we're being taught when we learn of it."
"I am grateful that you're still open to lectures, may they come from your teachers or elsewhere."
"So I am allowed to attend lessons and exams – but I'll need some time for my O.W.L.s, Professor, sure you're not in line with me spending so much time in the infirmary instead of the library -"
"Oh, on the contrary, I support the headmistresses decision to involve you in the care for Miss Weasley. All of them, that is."
"You do, Professor?"
"Yes, but not for reasons of – misplaced empathy. I am fully aware that you'll suffer in this process, and I do not welcome this, but to be straightforward with you – I do consider it important that you witness Dark Magic with your own eyes."
She waited for her teacher to elaborate. The dismissive look hat vanished from McGonagalls face, to be replaced by a stern frown, and – was it possible? - worried features. "Some point in the not too far future you, Mr Weasley and Mr Potter will head off to fight He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and no teacher, no member of the Order will support you, wherever you are. The journey you're heading off to is full of Magic, as horrifying as you've sadly had to encounter in the walls of this castle. There will be times when you want to give up. There will be times you'll want to abandon magic, leave the wizarding world, never to return again."
Hermione sat completely motionless. She had never hear McGonagall talk like this: Her voice had gone soft, she still had barely raised her voice, but spoke crystal clear and sharp. "Mr Potter cannot run away. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named will hunt him down eventually, kill him if he can. This doesn't apply to Mr Weasley. He might return to his family, in disgrace, perhaps, but he'll find shelter with any one of them. When it comes to you, Hermione", she took a deep breath, "It's up to you whether you'll join our ranks, or refuse to fight. Your parents are muggles, and you're clever enough to hide them, somewhere on this earth, leaving Potter and Weasley to fight a war that is not yours. I'm not saying that you will. I'm saying, you very well could." She rose from her seat. "So when I leave you in the hospital wing, I want you to live through the wizarding world as Dark wizards imagine it, as they wish it to be. I want you to look at what we're up against, why it's worth to fight – Voldemort."
She carefully stepped to the door, signaling Hermione that she was being excused. "We need you here. So come back any time you're surrounded by darkness, will you?"