Hermione awoke feeling strong for the first time since she'd been struck by Voldemort's curse. She could sit up without pain, move her arms uninhibited by stiffness, and that constant, throbbing ache which bisected her chest had eased almost to the point of obscurity. Curious, she peered down her shirt to find her scar now a muted purple, with no flashes or ripples to be found. One day, she imagined, it would be a subdued lavender shade, and no more inconvenient than any other scar.
But first, there were things to be done and a war to win.
Wary of a pain that never came, Hermione pushed herself up to sitting and let her feet dangle off the end of the narrow hospital bed. Before she could hop down to the ground, however, Madame Pomfrey appeared and rushed to her like she may as well have been about to jump into the Black Lake.
"Good morning, Miss Granger!" called the witch. "And how are we doing today, hmm?"
"Good morning, Madame Pomfrey, I'm fine. Can I go down to breakfast in the Great Hall?"
Madame Pomfrey eyed her shrewdly. "Well, let's have a look at you first, then we'll see."
Hermione stayed obediently still as she endured the same round of diagnostic charms. The illuminated runes which sprung forth from her skin were different today, their colours lighter and brighter. It didn't take quite so long for the process to complete, and then finally Madame Pomfrey stood back looking somewhat more satisfied than Hermione had seen since she'd arrived.
"Very well, Miss Granger. I'm comfortable releasing you for now, as long as you come see me for potions."
Hermione hopped down from the bed. "Of course, Madame Pomfrey."
"And if you have any relapse of symptoms, I want you right back here —"
"Yes, Madame Pomfrey."
"— and nothing physically or emotionally strenuous —"
"I understand."
Madame Pomfrey eyed her up and down before finally relinquishing her to get dressed. Hermione tugged her clothes on eagerly. She had no idea what time it was, but the sun was shining brightly and she was starving; her freshly healed body was suddenly desperate for food.
Dressed, she slung her bag over her shoulder and hurried through the castle to the Great Hall. She encountered no-one, which told her breakfast must be well underway and classes not yet started. Unless today was a weekend? Truthfully, she had no idea.
But when she finally entered the Great Hall, it was to find a sea of students in school robes poring over textbooks and scribbling last minute additions to their essays. Yule decorations were already up; it must have been end-of-term exams soon.
Hermione searched the endless array of small tables, aware of the eyes on her, until she spotted them: Harry and Ron seated at a larger table with Neville, Luna, and Ginny. The sight of friends she hadn't seen in weeks made her heart soar and she hurried through the jungle of tables and chairs towards them.
Whispers of "Is that Hermione Granger?" fluttered through the crowd, but she ignored them. The entire student body seemed restless to know what had brought Harry Potter back to Hogwarts.
Hermione dropped herself into a vacant seat with a smile. "Hi, everyone."
"Hermione!" cried Neville. "Great to see you."
"You too, Neville." She pulled three pieces of toast and a sausage onto her plate.
"Feeling better?" asked Harry with a smirk at her ravenous appetite.
"I'm feeling marvellous, Harry." Except — she frowned, toast momentarily forgotten and craned her neck to search the Great Hall.
"He's not here," said Ron around a mouthful of beans. "Reckon he won't show his face. The Slytherins'll kill him."
It was a sad thought, but Ron was probably right. Was Draco condemned to spend the rest of the war hiding in secret quarters in Hogwarts?
"Hang on — speak of the devil —"
Hermione sat up straighter — the hall had gone nearly silent; everyone turned to the entrance where, Hermione saw, Draco stood. He looked terrified, and shocked to find so many eyes on him. She saw his gaze flicker to his old table, where he'd always sat by himself. It had been filled. There was nowhere for him to go, and the Slytherins in the room were all but hissing at him to approach at his own peril.
Something shifted in his eyes and posture until it was that shuttered, cool assurance he so often sported. Hermione could see, though, the slight trembling of his hands at his sides as he made his way through the sea of tables and whispers.
"Draco Malfoy —"
"He's really back! Merlin, I didn't think he'd come —"
"So he really was with Potter, do you think? Could it be true, what the Prophet said?"
Draco slowed to a halt as he stood before their table. He looked at each of them, a conflicting mix of pleading and defiance in his eyes. "Hi."
Harry nodded. "Malfoy."
"May — may I sit?"
They all looked at each other as they considered his request. Hermione pleaded with her eyes, hopeful. Neville was frowning, but then he shared a glance with Ron, and it turned into a shrug. Harry nodded again. "Sure."
With a quiet sigh of relief, Draco pulled out the last vacant chair between Hermione and Luna and sat. The Great Hall erupted into ferocious, hissing whispers as he did so, but Hermione didn't care. She grinned.
"So," said Ginny, in a manner one might call aggressively cheerful, "you're alright, Hermione? Harry said you were in the Hospital Wing."
"Oh — I'm fine, Ginny. Nothing Madame Pomfrey couldn't fix up, though I still need to take some potions. Could you pass the marmalade, please, Neville? Thank you."
Conversation resumed around them as the student body recovered from its shock at seeing Draco Malfoy take his breakfast with the likes of Harry Potter. Hermione's cheer could not be dimmed; she had to fight with herself not to beam at Draco. Now was not the time or place to be so obvious in her affection for him.
As breakfast ended and the students trudged away to their morning lessons, Hermione, Harry, Ron, and Draco went in the direction of the headmistress' office. Strictly speaking, Hermione wasn't sure Draco would be allowed, seeing as he wasn't a member of the Order of the Phoenix, but they brought him along anyway for lack of anything else to do with him.
Hermione, still so unused to having a body not bogged down by pain, practically skipped through the corridors.
The gargoyle leapt aside when they approached, without them providing a password. Single file, they got onto the moving stone staircase until it brought them to the door, when Harry knocked.
"Come."
They filed in and the heavy door shut quietly behind them. Minerva looked just as harried as the night before as she looked them over.
"Oh, good," she said mildly, "you brought Mr Malfoy."
Draco blinked. "Professor?"
"I've been meaning to ask you two" — she nodded to Hermione — "if you would be willing to resume your brewing? The lunar cycle begins in three days' time, and I'm sure Professor Lupin would be most appreciative."
Hermione and Draco shared a look. "Of course," she said quickly. "We'd be happy to."
"Excellent. I shall let Horace know to have your laboratory prepared for the Full Moon."
Something flipped delightedly in Hermione's stomach. Our laboratory.
"Er — should I go now, headmistress?" asked Draco timidly.
Minerva sighed. "Were you or were you not, Mr Malfoy, involved in the fiasco which destroyed half the Ministry?"
"I — I was, professor."
"Then stay. You've earned the right, as far as I'm concerned." She waved her hand. "Now, we are here to develop a plan. Harry, you seem to be under the impression you have the power to destroy You-Know-Who. Is this a delusion of grandeur or have you really discovered something which can bring an end to this war?" Despite her scornful words, Minerva sounded painfully hopeful.
"I know how to do it," said Harry firmly. "I just — you know his snake? That he keeps with him? She's got to go first. And it's got to be with the sword." Harry's eyes flicked to the case behind the headmistress' desk where the Sword of Gryffindor glinted.
Minerva didn't question it. "I understand. In the case he attacks the school, we are making plans to protect the students — particularly the younger years — so that we may defend Hogwarts. I will make sure the rest of the Order is aware that you are prepared for direct confrontation."
Harry nodded, determined.
"Er," began Ron, and the attention of the room turned to him. "Since we're not going back to lessons or sitting exams or any of that, what exactly are we meant to be doing while we're here?"
"That, I'm afraid, is more or less up to you four," answered Minerva with curiosity and regret. "All I ask is that you do not disrupt the education of the current students. I understand that some of last term's seventh years who elected to stay on the grounds have been tutoring the younger years…"
No-one but Hermione seemed particularly interested in that option.
"What about…" Suddenly, Harry's eyes lit up. "What about Dumbledore's Army? Remember? From two years ago —"
"I remember," said Minerva warily.
"Well, why don't we start it up again? Get some duelling practice in. God knows we need it."
Hermione conceded it was a decent idea.
Minerva sighed. "Very well. Though I will ask you to limit your invitations to students who are of-age, if you don't mind."
"Done."
"Now, unless there's anything else you need to bring to my attention..?" Minerva scanned them. "Very well. You may go."
Obediently, they filed out the door; Hermione felt like she was floating, she felt so light and free. Without second thought, she set off down the corridor to the nearest stairwell, oblivious to the snickers behind her.
"Off somewhere?" called Ron.
Impatient, she turned to find the three of them stopped by the gargoyle. "Aren't you coming to the Room of Requirement?"
"I didn't mean now," said Harry with amusement. "Shouldn't we wait until Neville and everyone else is done with lessons? Besides, I bet Madame Pomfrey told you to take it easy."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "A few Stunning Spells won't kill me. I feel fine."
The three of them rose their eyebrows in tandem.
"Alright," Harry conceded. "But as soon as you feel unwell, you're sitting down."
Hermione beamed; the odd tension in her cheeks told her it had been a long time since she'd smiled so hard. It was almost disturbing, how easily she'd grown accustomed to the heavy weight of Dark magic pulling her down. How euphoric it was now to be free of it.
The journey to the seventh floor was still taxing — all those stairs — but Hermione didn't let the fatigue deter her. The Room of Requirement was ready for them, just like it had been under Umbridge's rule. The memory of their ragtag group emboldened her and she sensed a similar transformation in Ron and Harry as they took in the familiar surroundings.
"I remember this," murmured Draco as he surveyed the room.
"Yeah, I bet you've got loads of fond memories outing us to Umbitch."
"Ron," Hermione scolded, though it was half-hearted.
"What did you lot do in here, anyway? I mean I heard the rumours, but — hey!"
Draco ducked just in time to dodge a bolt of magic from Harry's wand. It shot up and exploded in a burst of purple sparks somewhere near the high ceiling.
"Constant vigilance, Malfoy," said Harry sagely. Ron snickered.
For a moment, Draco merely looked stunned, then the blank look morphed into a smirk as he shifted to a defensive stance. "You're on, Potter."
The exchange stirred something warm in Hermione and she found herself transfixed by the sight of the boys — her boys— playfully duelling. They worked with various shields and exchanged sparks in lieu of serious offensive spells; not even a rogue Stupefy or Expelliarmus passed their lips. Ron joined in, too, and Hermione watched as Draco was swiftly overpowered.
It wasn't a fair match, of course, but they all knew when the time came the odds would not be in their favour.
A padded ottoman appeared just when she thought she might prefer to sit and she settled onto it gratefully whilst the spellfire flashed in her periphery. Harry had been right; she was fatiguing quickly, the first suggestion of pain rippling across her scar. It was irritating, but she found herself more interested in the boys' progress.
Though Harry and Ron were out of practice, they still had more experience and better honed instincts than Draco. Their three-way dance evolved into a complicated arrangement of flashing magic and rippling shields; Hermione could no longer work out who was aiming at whom. They went on for longer than Hermione would expect, and her focus narrowed on Draco. He was sweating, grunting with every near miss, but he was holding his own and, as he found his rhythm, he even landed a few harmless sparks on Harry's shoulder.
Until he stopped.
"Enough," he panted, holding up a hand in surrender as he bent over to catch his breath. "Enough."
Harry and Ron lowered their wands, both of them looking grateful for the reprieve.
"Not bad, Malfoy," offered Harry between heavy breaths.
"We'll have to work on your shielding a bit," suggested Ron, braced on his knees.
Draco merely nodded and sat down on the ground. Then, when that was insufficient, he sprawled on his back, chest still heaving. "Give me — a minute," he gasped, "then we'll go again."
Harry and Ron nodded.
Despite the ache mildly throbbing in her chest, Hermione still beamed.