It was only after she'd fallen to the ground that she realised they were back at Grimmauld Place; she recognised the entryway rug beneath her. That was about all she was able to think clearly before the tremors began.

"Potter! Weasley!"

"Here, Malfoy! We're alright!"

"Is Hermione —"

"She's here —"

The ground trembled beneath her with all their footsteps as Harry shed the Cloak and Ron hunched against the wall, panting. Hermione, however, was past noticing it all; her extremities were shaking violently. She'd fallen to her knees as soon as they'd arrived back home, and now she was curled up on the floor, shaking. She was vaguely aware of the boys circling around her and the pair of arms which came around her back, gripping her shoulders and pulling her upper body away from the floor. She could not speak, or even process what her open eyes were seeing.

"Hermione?" asked one of them. "Hermione, are you okay?"

"Did she get cursed with something?"

"I didn't see — I don't think so — only the Cruciatus —"

"Right, only the Cruciatus —"

Her whole body seized then, and she was violently sick on the rug. The boys cried out in alarm and disgust, but it was swiftly followed by fear as the retching did not stop, even when there was nothing left but bile, and her whole body convulsed in relentless, seizing waves. A Scouring Charm was cast, and then hands were all over her.

"Hermione? Hermione, what's wrong?"

"She's having a seizure —"

"Hermione!"

"Wait is that — her shirt — is that blood?"

The hands moved then to her sternum, where pain was splitting her in half right down the middle. Cold, shaking fingers gripped the material of her shirt and pulled hard, pulling the collar uncomfortably against her neck for a moment until the fabric tore, exposing her bare chest.

"Fuck — the potions — we need potions!"

"KREACHER!"

Pop!

"Master?"

"MUDBLOODS! BLOOD TRAITORS! DEFILING MY HOME!"

"Oh, will someone shut her up? Kreacher, bring us all the potions we have — Blood Replenisher —"

"She doesn't need Blood Replenisher, Potter, she needs murtlap!"

"— and the murtlap! Everything we've got, quickly —"

Hands skimmed the exposed front of her torso. Though the touch was gentle, it burned her frayed nerve endings like fire. She tried to squirm away, but her body was beyond her control.

"Why is her scar bleeding? I didn't know it does that."

"I don't think it does do that. Are you sure she wasn't hit by something?"

"I told you, Potter: I didn't see. We were running — but I didn't hear it — and if she'd been hit, I would've felt it —"

Pop! "Kreacher has brought the potions, master."

There was a clinking of metal bottles and vials as they were frantically rummaged through.

"Found it!"

"Murtlap? Great. Do we put it on her, or —?"

"This one, I think she has to drink. Help me."

A strong arm came around behind her, cradling her against a hard chest. Hermione resisted — it only worsened the pain — if she could curl up in a ball, maybe that would lessen it, maybe she would be able to breathe again —

"Weasley — hold her head still — she won't stop thrashing —"

"On it."

"Here, Malfoy, I'll hold her legs —"

Hermione tried to twist out of their grip, but it only heightened the agony. Couldn't they see her body was dying?

The potion forced against her lips was slimy and warm and made her want to retch again, but the hands holding her still would not allow it. The murtlap essence dissipated through her almost instantly, leaving a tingling balm in its wake. Something wet slapped across her chest and dribbled down her sides. Hermione nearly gasped at the shock; the edge of the pain dulled. It was nowhere near tolerable, or even bearable, but it was enough.

"It's still bleeding. It looks like it's opened. What if it won't heal on its own?"

"Shut up, Malfoy, you're not helping. If we need to, I can call Minerva for help but — look, I don't think she's in as much pain anymore."

"Because she's probably unconscious, Potter! Do you know what Dark Magic can do to people? We might not have any time —"

"Malfoy, SHUT UP!" Heavy breaths. "If she doesn't improve in a day, I'll contact the Order. Maybe we could get advice from Madame Pomfrey. But for now, let's get her to bed so she can rest."

A long, stretched silence, until, "Fine."

"Great. Now, how are we going to carry her? I'm worried if we try to levitate her, the magic might do weird things to her scar, too."

"Forget that, Potter. If she starts seizing in mid-air, she'll smash her head on something. She nearly did on the floor."

"Right. Exactly. So let's —"

The floorboards creaked as several people shifted around, and suddenly hands were sliding beneath her shoulders, her legs, her waist.

"One… two… three… up!"

"That's it, Hermione, you're doing great… nearly there…"

"Mind her arm on the banister!"

She was bobbing through the air — no, flying in their arms. Every inch of her still hurt with the worst pain she'd ever felt, but there was a heavy fog descending, too.

"Kreacher! Can you open the door, please?"

Pop! "Yes, master."

Her pallbearers brought her through a narrow doorway and, with great coordination, deposited her somewhere soft. Her body settled against it, the movement bringing pain so great she wished she could stop breathing.

The voices were still speaking, negotiating something, but she couldn't understand the words. With great desperation, she sank into the rushing darkness until all was gone.

Something moved against her. Though her senses were muffled, she knew instinctively it had been a long time since she'd been awake. The body beside her sighed.

"Do you need more murtlap? Will that help?" he asked softly, with the air of someone who had got used to saying the same words over and over again. "I don't think we have any more, but I'm going to tell Potter to contact the headmistress so they can Floo us some from the castle. Fuck security. You don't deserve this."

She didn't move.

"You can't even hear me, can you? You're still asleep…" He shifted beside her. "Please wake up soon. I don't even know how many hours it's been anymore. I don't — I don't know if I did the right thing, Granger. Maybe there was something else I could've done, to protect you, but my head just couldn't see it…"

He took a shaking breath and she felt fingertips stroking her face.

There was the sound of a door opening; the hand retracted.

"Alright, Malfoy," said Ron, not unkindly, "time's up."

"I'm not leaving her."

"You haven't eaten or slept or showered," Ron pointed out. "I'll stay with her until you're done. And," he added as Draco made a noise of protest, "if you don't comply willingly, Harry and I are willing and ready to force you."

There was a tense pause. "Fine. But if she wakes up —"

"— I'll let you know." The mattress moved as Draco extracted himself from the bed. "Has she done anything?" asked Ron. "Moved? Spoken? Made sounds of pain?"

"Nothing. It's like she's — like she took Draught of Living Death."

"Well, if she's like this for much longer, Harry'll tell McGonagall we need help."

"Much longer? She needs help now, Weasley! Who knows what's happening to her!"

"Keep your voice down! Go talk to Harry about it, then."

"Fine. I will."

There was a shuffling against the floorboards before the door closed and another body climbed onto her bed.

"Hey, Hermione," said Ron. "Time for a changing of the guard, yeah?"

Still, she was unable to move. She began to wonder if she still had a body at all.

"Malfoy's been up here since we got back," explained Ron, and Hermione wondered why he felt the need. "Wouldn't leave you all night. I don't get it." She felt movement, like he was shaking his head beside her. "Who would've thought the mangy ferret was capable of it?" He laughed softly. "He's totally mad about you, Hermione."

Ron's arm came around her and settled on her shoulder. "I'm almost tempted to ask if you dosed him with one of Fred and George's love potions while you were brewing," he chortled. "I mean, it would be good revenge, wouldn't it? But nah, you'd never do something like that. You're sneaky, don't get me wrong, but I don't think that's your style.

"You know, I won't lie: for a moment, I really thought he'd betrayed us. When he offered you up to You-Know-Who…" She felt Ron shake his head again. "I was hiding in the crowd. I managed to get away from you two fast enough that the Aurors — if you can even call them that anymore — didn't notice me. I suppose I'm not as recognisable as you and Malfoy, either. Anyway, I was ready to take you and leave him for dead, to be honest. It was only after we started running, when I saw him helping you, that I realised…"

Ron sighed. "Anyway. We got the Cup, by the way. Harry managed to grab it while you were being… questioned. Had to use the rest of the Acromantula venom to destroy it. I'm surprised you didn't feel it happen, actually. Malfoy said he did, and he was up here with you. We were worried it might wake you up or make your scar do more funny things. Honestly, six years of lessons and I never knew Dark Magic could be like that. You probably did, though. You know everything. But I guess you never expected to encounter Dark curses like that…

"Fuck, Hermione, I'm so sorry it had to be you. And not just because of your scar, but… You're the last person out of all of us that deserves it. I wouldn't even wish it on Malfoy, but at least… I dunno. I dunno what I'm saying." He laughed again, dry. "And you can't even hear me." A sigh. "But that's alright. You don't need to. I can talk to myself, and we can just hang out until Malfoy gets back and kicks me out.

"Erm… I dunno if you saw it happen — you were right behind me, so maybe you did, but even I could see you were injured then, so who knows — but they got Percy…" Ron cleared his throat. "I don't really know how to feel about it, if I'm honest. I haven't told my family or anything — haven't had the chance to — but they might already know since it happened at the Ministry. You should see today's Prophet…"

Hermione desperately wished to cling to whatever scraps of consciousness she still had, but it wasn't enough. She was sliding again, slipping backwards into the cavernous darkness waiting for her. Ron's voice was swallowed by the fog, leaving her alone.