Everything hurt.

Well, not everything.

Her head, certainly. She'd developed a mild headache during lunch whilst going over final details for the History O.W.L. Subsequent events had hardly soothed it.

Her sternum hurt, too. Or somewhere deeper in her chest. A rich, throbbing ache. Much more bearable than the sharp, indescribable agony that had sliced her open, though. Madame Pomfrey's potions and spells had brought it to its current dormant state, but Hermione didn't think she'd ever forget the feeling of Dolohov's magic searing her. She hadn't known pain like that was possible. Even as she lay on the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling, she tried not to breathe too deeply, lest it wake the beast.

She blinked a few times. The sunlight through the windows was brilliant and golden. Probably late afternoon? Not many people had come by to see her, and those who had didn't stay very long. At least no-one else had been injured like she had.

Except for Harry. Her heart hurt for him — hurt more than her injury. The unfairness of it all was staggering, that his need to save Sirius was what killed him. She had seen the light leave his eyes — both Sirius' and Harry's — and it frightened her. She'd never seen Death before and it felt like something deep inside her had been changed for it.

And Harry, well. The universe seemed to have decided that no matter what he did, he just wouldn't be allowed a family.

She hoped those around him now were rallying to show him he was loved. Ron, the rest of the Weasleys — Neville and Luna, too, since they had been there. All of Gryffindor House. Hermione would, too, if he would just come to see her for more than five minutes. She wasn't sure yet if he blamed her at all for what happened. She certainly blamed herself. Why hadn't she protested harder? Magically compelled him to stay put? A simple petrificus totalus! would have saved Sirius' life…

"Alright, Miss Granger, if you want to convince me not to send you off to St Mungo's, you're doing a pretty poor job of it."

"Sorry, Madame Pomfrey — I swear I can sit up. See?" She shuffled into a seated position.

Madame Pomfrey squinted at her. "I'll humour you for now, Miss Granger, but if I don't see significant improvement in forty-eight hours, it would be remiss of me not to send you to a specialist. That was Dark magic you were cursed with. Recovering from it is not as simple as a broken nose."

Hermione nodded and quickly regretted it when her ribs began smarting again.


HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED RETURNS

Hermione stared at The Sunday Prophet in her hands. Plastered across its front were photos of Fudge, Harry, Dumbledore, Umbridge; all suddenly disgraced or celebrated. It was dizzying, to say the least. She was sad to note that it didn't feel as good as she thought it would, to have Harry's name vindicated in the mainstream press. As far as victories went, it felt rather hollow.

Chewing her toast, she turned the page, and nearly gagged.

DEATH EATERS DISCOVERED AT SCENE SENT TO AZKABAN

Hermione scanned the names — Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, Walden Macnair, Augustus Rookwood, Antonin Dolohov — so many of them, perhaps all of them, even, but none made her stomach drop like the photo on the right-hand side of the page.

LUCIUS MALFOY EXPOSED! PHILANTHROPIST, HOGWARTS GOVERNOR, FRIEND OF FUDGE ACTUALLY TOP LIEUTENANT OF YOU-KNOW-WHO!

Below the title were two photos: one of Lucius Malfoy sneering at an official function, the other of him accosted by Aurors Thursday night. It was damning, if a little sensationalised.

Hermione put down her toast, appetite lost.

She read through the paper, then read it again, and spent a great deal of time sorting through what it all might mean. It looked like Voldemort's entire fleet (save Bellatrix Lestrange) had been incarcerated, and with the public now on Harry's side, it was all a little too good to be true. She wondered, shamefully, if it was worth the price of Sirius' life. Harry probably wouldn't say so.

At least Umbridge had been sacked in disgrace.

Professor McGonagall stopped by to see her, a little weak but otherwise delighted and furious to see her most delinquent students again. She advised Hermione to take a trip to St Mungo's herself, which Hermione promised she would give due consideration.

When late afternoon came, Hermione carefully got to her feet and slowly donned her robes over her hospital pyjamas.

Madame Pomfrey stood in the doorway looking incredibly frustrated. "Miss Granger, understand that I am allowing this as a favour. If you at any moment feel a worsening of symptoms or, Merlin forbid, collapse, you will come back here immediately. I will bring you back here myself if need be. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Madame Pomfrey."

"I've informed Professor Snape of my conditions, though if you ask me, he can do without you."

"I know, but I'd really like to —"

"Yes, yes, I know! Off you go then, before I change my mind and charm you to stick to your bed!"

"Thank you," Hermione murmured and scurried off as quickly as she could before Madame Pomfrey could make good on her promise.

The corridors were mostly empty, and Hermione supposed most of the students must be in the Great Hall for dinner or enjoying the grounds. It was odd now to walk through the castle without dodging fireworks and general mayhem. There was a newfound peace about the school, but the shadow of Voldemort made it a morbid one. She tried not to think of what next year would be like.

Her walk to the dungeons was even slower than she'd anticipated, and by the time she arrived at the door, she was horribly anxious. She hadn't felt this nervous since they'd first started brewing. She hadn't noticed, either, how much she'd come to enjoy their little project.

With a steeling breath, she gingerly opened the door. Inside, Professor Snape and Draco waited in silence. Professor Snape greeted her with a nod. Draco didn't even look up.

"Thank you for joining us, Miss Granger. No doubt your journey here was a taxing affair."

Hermione didn't say anything.

"As yesterday marked the end of the Wolfsbane cycle and you will not be beginning a new batch due to the term's end, today you will be cleaning the materials for storage. If you are somehow still ignorant of the proper procedures for the maintenance of silver, you will find it in your third-year text." He turned to her. "Miss Granger, as I have no desire to watch you drop dead on my floor or explain your demise to our nurse, kindly resist the urge to overwork yourself."

Hermione nodded feebly. With a final glance at the two of them, Professor Snape disappeared from the room.

Before she could say anything, Draco snatched up the roll of tools and pulled out a knife to polish. His demeanour was icy; Hermione struggled not to flinch as he aggressively swiped the polishing cloth against the blade. This was so much worse than she had imagined.

With a swallow, she pulled the silver cauldron close to begin scrubbing it. If he wanted to be angry with her, fine. But he wouldn't scare her off, and she wouldn't let him turn her into some cowering, frightened creature.

That in mind, she set about her task. Or tried to, at least. Her right arm had far less mobility, which was a shame, given she was right-handed. Experimentally, she picked up the cloth in her left hand and held it up to the side of the cauldron, breath held in case of any sudden pain. It was awkward work, especially when she couldn't brace the cauldron with her right arm. She had no idea how she'd clean the inside. She supposed she'd figure it out when she got there.

But the cauldron wasn't getting any shinier. She tried to add a bit more pressure and then winced when it sent the cauldron tipping over onto its side with a loud clatter. Instinctively, she reached to right it only to gasp, frozen, as sharp pain shot through her chest.

Draco reached over, snatched away the cauldron, and shoved the set of tools he'd been polishing to her side of the benchtop.

God, this is embarrassing. Maybe coming here had been a mistake after all. She could do even less than she'd thought, and it seemed she was just making him angrier.

But if she left now, he'd despise her. She knew it. And she couldn't bear that, not after all the work they'd done. It wasn't fair.

Gingerly, she picked up the steel stirring rod and reached for the polishing cloth. This was much more doable work, she noted with relief.

"Thank you," she said softly.

He didn't say anything, which was hardly a surprise. He remained stoic and silent, the fury practically radiating off him as they worked through all the tools. He did four times as much work as she did, but she made a valiant effort to contribute what she could while she drafted her speech.

Hermione hadn't been sure what she would say to him. She'd been dwelling on it all day, ever since she'd seen his father's face in the paper. It would depend on his behaviour, and now that she knew how he was reacting, she was tempted not to say anything at all. But if he blamed her for this (which he almost definitely did), she wouldn't stand for it. Not without defending herself first.

Well done. You took my advice to heart and you didn't even spare me in return. Not even Salazar himself could have asked for more. Top marks, Granger.

He'd been so angry then, and that was just when his father had been slandered in a cheap magazine. What was he thinking now that his father was in prison? She had no idea how the rest of Hogwarts had reacted to the news whilst she was stuck in the Hospital Wing.

They had only a few more things to tidy up. If she waited for the end, he probably wouldn't stay to listen.

She cleared her throat. He can pretend not to hear me if he has to. But I'm not leaving him to stew in this all summer, not without setting him straight.

Come to think of it, Professor Snape hadn't given any indication that they would be continuing this next year. What if this was the last time she was alone with him ever?

She opened her mouth to speak, closed it, then opened it again.

"You don't have to say anything" — he stiffened, but she ploughed onwards — "I don't expect you to, actually. I can see you're angry with me." She swallowed. "I just want to say — to say thank you. For helping me, and for trying to help Harry. I suppose I'm in your debt really." She tried a self-deprecating laugh, but it hurt her ribs and he appeared to not hear it at all.

"Harry did end up doing something stupid, in the end… His annual near-death experience, as you put it." She was rambling now, but she couldn't stop herself, and he clearly had no intention to interrupt. "I tried to stop him, but he can be so thick once he's decided on something." Though, given the consequences this time, maybe that'll change…

She took a fortifying breath. It was so hard to do this when he wasn't giving any sort of reaction. But she hadn't finished yet, and she needed to choose her words very carefully.

"I'm also sorry — for what this must mean for your family. I'm sure you regret helping me, and you probably feel like I betrayed you somehow, but I just want to say that that wasn't my intention. I mean it when I say I'm grateful."

She let that sit in the air for a moment. Maybe it would stick, and echo through his head until he had gotten over himself enough to believe it.

"So, I'm grateful, and I'm sorry it didn't turn out well for you, but I'm also — I'm not sorry for what I did. Or what Harry did. I can't regret that at all, and I won't apologise for it. Even though I'm sorry you're upset because of it."

Enough. Stop talking!

She pressed her lips together and wished she had come up with this earlier instead of leaving herself to talk in circles like this.

"That's all."

He didn't say anything or give her any acknowledgement and, when they had finished, he left without so much as a glance.

When he'd gone, a huge breath of relief left her aching chest. She hunched over the benchtop, finally surrendering to the pain which had blossomed from a perpetual throbbing into sharp lashes against her nerves when she moved. She needed more pain potion. Maybe something more industrious, even.

The Hospital Wing was so far away.

When she finally made it up all those stairs and back to her bed, Madame Pomfrey leapt into action, administering all sorts of potions and charms to coax the pain back into something more bearable.

"What did I tell you, Miss Granger? Honestly, the number of Gryffindors who insist on defying bed rest… unbelievable…"

"Madame Pomfrey?" she called weakly.

"Yes?"

"I'd like to go to St Mungo's, please."

And then everything collapsed into comfortable darkness. Hermione welcomed it with relief.