Dawn was merciless upon her: She showered hastily, almost slipping herself, but managed to turn up in the infirmary, hair done and clothes clean, at half past five as requested.
"Hurry!"
The nurse's voice echoed through the infirmary. She was nowhere to be seen at first, so Hermione followed a sweet smell she felt oddly familiar with, reaching disgusting levels when she headed further down the stone floor. Rattling of an old metallic bed joined the smell which she vaguely remembered from her parents's shared private practice: Mostly blood with antiseptic vapor, mixed with something else she had encountered far from home, and felt completely indifferent to. Much to her surprise, she found the nurse not at Ginny's side, but in the niche around bed ten, next to her friends version without arms.
"He's been attacked at midnight. I could stop the bleeding, but he hasn't responded to pain meds", Madam Pomfrey hastily made an excuse for an introduction of her patient. Hermione recognized the alien component in the smell: The distinct odor of a horse. Firenze was kneeling half-kneeling, half lying next to the bed, pounding his strong fists on the mattress, face torn in agony.
"Will you fetch some ice from the fridge behind my desk?", Madam Pomfrey asked her, the same unobstrusive authority in her voice, signaling it was not really a question. "I usually don't retreat to Muggle measures, but seeing that nothing else has helped so far -"
"Coming." Hermione rushed to the desk, once again leaving her robes on the chair, but took her wand this time. The fridge was neatly hidden in wooden panelling of the drawer behind the nurse's desk. A student with magical parents might have overlooked the switch, she mused.
"Take the sheet and tie them onto the wounds. Be careful to check for blood refill in the legs – if they turn red or blue, you need to loosen the bandages immediately. I'll be with Miss Weasley, she's gotten worse."
Hermione did not even stop to brood which Ginny she was referring to. The centaur had just started ripping the mattress apart.
"Let me see." She threw all cold packs on the bed, kneeling down next to the creature half horse, half man. Hermione had never cared much for horses, but this was a well trained and attractive half part of a man. She pushed the thought away. Dark scab already covered the deep cuts mostly on his arms and shoulders, but he bore some nasty incision on his chest as well.
"I need you to hold still." Standing broad over his back, one foot behind him, the other softly leaned against his belly, he let her abduct his arm. Covering it with packs and bandages, she discovered similar cuts on his back, but not as many as on his forearms. Apparently he had tried to shield himself against the infliction, but then decided to flee the scene, certain dark wizards attacking from behind. Whereas his arm was easily bandaged, his shoulders proved to broad for her to encircle, especially since displayed no intention to sit up straight on her request.
"This will really help you with the pain, if you just let me -"
He was howling, coughing and did not respond. She knelt down between his front hooves, both unharmed, but one dangerously squashed under his body.
"Try to hold them yourself, then -", Hermione urged him. "I can see you're hurt, but tearing the mattress will hardly ease it -"
Why, why was Madam Pofrey letting her do this completely on her own? In a leap of faith, she just pushed a larger pack of ice against his chest. Either the surprise or the cold, Hermione did not truly care which stimulus, finally pulled the centaur back to present. He stopped hammering and grabbed the packs.
"Now, hold it", she commanded, drawing her wand, "Until I've attached it."
"No", he refused, looking at her the first time. Imagining him to throw away the ice packs the next second, she laid a hand on his.
"Why?"
"I'm not accepting these measures", he groaned stubbornly.
"You've tolerated me tying the packs to your arms!", she let out, frustrated. It was not even six in the morning, her friend had died only hours ago without her being able to do anything about it – and now this stupid horse refused the plain and simple measure she could perform? "What's wrong?"
"Nothing -"
"Then will you let me ease your pain?!" Anger rushed through her, threatening to conquer all friendly and benevolent manner.
"I am fine with you tending my arms", Firenze gasped, the pack pressed tightly to his chest.
"So why for heaven's sake -"
"What Professor Firenze is indicating -", a clear, sharp voice reached her ears, "Is that he does not wish you to tend his wounds by wizardry."
It was McGonagall. She must have overseen them for a while, arms crossed before her chest, wearing her usual black robes and a much less strict expression than Hermione had expected her to.
"Yes, that is indeed my wish", Firenze confirmed her suggestion.
"And might I ask why you refuse my magic to help you?", Hermione growled, rising to her feet again. If she had to tie the packs to his chest, she needed both her arms length.
"I refuse this wizard magic", the centaur answered, "Since I'd like to preserve my remaining dignity. It was wizards who attacked me, in spite of everything that's not human - so called-pure blooded magic -, and I won't lower myself to be a subject of further application."
"But muggle measures are fine?"
"I don't share the derogatory view on non-magic methods."
"Since you won't let a witch apply any relief to you -", she mustered his face, still wildly torn by his pain. In a remote corner of her mind, where rationality lurked, waiting to govern her mind again, she admired him. "Would wandless magic be alright with you?"
He smiled, but it was no friendly expression. "A common egocentric view", he gasped between her platonic hugs, while she wrapped his chest, "Limiting wand use to humanoid magic creatures is an arbitrary discrimination."
"Yeah, well, we'll go for the ice then." Hermione found herself unwilling to engage in this merely academic discussion, a feeling she had seldom encountered before. She pulled the bandages tight under McGonagall's watch.
"Might I inquire", McGonagall raised her voice halfway through the process, "Who is responsible for your injuries?"
"Me", the centaur groaned. "When Professor Dumbledore offered me to succeed as teacher, I seized the opportunity and took up the subject of Divination to become my responsibility."
"A most noble attitude." Her head of house did not utter any sign of impatience, her position as deputy required such diplomatic skills. "But I would be interested in the precise events that lead to those injuries."
"Ah." For a moment, Hermione expected him to refuse an answer at all. "It was a group of young Slyhterins. Most of them descendants from established families, and a tradition of suppressing all non-human magic folk. I will not repeat the incantation used to harm me. But be rest assured, they meant to inflict these wounds."
"I must ask you", McGonagall pushed him, "for their names."
"The participants heed the names of Serban Miller, Millicent Bulstrode, Theodor Nott and Draco Malfoy", Firenze confirmed Hermiones worst expectations. "They used to be students of mine. I am sad to recognize my teachings have not succeeded in conveying a more – egalitarian set of values."
"This blame must be on all of us", McGonagall replied, quietly, either unable or unwilling to hide her disappointment.
Just as Hermione rose next to a more relaxed looking Firenze, her head of house turned to leave the scene.
"Will you permit me to clean up here?", Hermione asked.
"Of course, Miss -"
"Granger."
"Ah." Firenze let out a knowing, heavy sigh. "Do you happen to find yourself in company of Mr Potter?"
"Every once in a while, yes."
"Then I am delighted to see Mr Potter chooses his friends not only for their magical capabilities, but their tact and respect to other creatures. It's a decent attitude to withhold unwanted assistance, if it is uttered so plain and clear."
"Is that a yes? Am I allowed to use my wand in front of you?", she asked, struggling to hide her impatience. Now that the unsettling rush of her anger had subsided, she felt tired, and incredibly hungry.
"Please proceed according to your liking, Miss Granger", the centaur replied with such dignity she already felt ashamed again. With a flick of her wand, the mattress had restored itself to its former, slightly worn-out state. Another square, pointedly drawn, and the sheets prepared the bed, ready for another patient to stir them up.
"I am afraid I will have to bother you and Madam Pomfrey with my company for a while."
"Make yourself at home", Hermione muffled, pocketing her wand in her belt.
He moved to free his crushed front hoove, then positioned himself almost comfortably against the brass bed, head resting on folded arms on the mattress. Uncertain whether Madam Pomfrey wished her to watch over him, she leaped onto the lower end, feet dangling in mid-air. Her indifference to horses would certainly survive the night.
The chilly, fresh air of breaking dusk carried their voices well into the niche.
"... just hope they trust us enough at Mungo's not to notify the Weasleys on their own", Madam Pomfrey said. "It'd be an awful misunderstanding if they learned that their daughter's body has arrived, with allowance to be examined for academic purposes."
"I'll see to it that Molly and Arthur don't get it the wrong way", her head of house assured her. "In the end, someone will have to tell them... but the way I know Molly, she'll want to come here and keep Miss Weasley company, regardless whether its the daughter she's raised or not. I won't put her through that."
They remained silent for a while.
"The – prosthesis - for Miss Weasley do work, I presume?", McGonagall asked.
"Yes, we've managed to restore a partial eyesight with them." Hermione imagined the nurse pointing to two small crystal balls, white, flawless and cold as marble, with finest red lines instead of uneven swirls and veins. "She'll be able to distinguish light and dark, at least."
"They're not her natural color, are they?"
"No. Miss Granger asked me to change them to a less familiar shade."
"I've seen those eyes somewhere. Recently. Do you recognize them – from a student even, perhaps?"
Hermione would have overheard the nurses hesitation, just as McGonagall actually did, if it had not for their exchange the previous day. "No."
Either witch seemed lost in thought again.
"Minerva, am I going to see such an amount of injured students next term?"
"Unlike Professor Firenze, I am not graced with the aptitude of Seeing, Poppy." McGonagall must have witnessed an alienated reaction, for her voice got much softer suddenly. "I am working on, let's say, adequate additional measures to imply in order to ensure or students safety. But the Order can assist only so far, and not all of them are free to participate according to their liking."
"Yes, Professor Snape -"
"Shh. The less we speak of it, the less we're vulnerable. One can't testify to what they've never known", McGonagall cut her short. Hermione wondered whether she had been aware of her listening throughout the conversation.
"Shall I notify you when Miss Weasleys condition progresses?", the nurse asked.
"Yes, please. Even if our dear headmistress considers such - mundane - events unworthy of her precious attention, I would like to be informed. After all, a child has died tonight."