Hermione's eyelids were heavy.

She was coming into consciousness, Hermione knew that much, and the beep … beep … beep of hospital machines punched their way through the fog in her brain. She felt a scratchy sheet beneath her right hand, and absolutely nothing from the left side of her chest over.

No, not again. Not this again.

Hermione cracked her eyes open and squinted against the bright fluorescent hospital lights. She was in a room with white walls, and a bright blue accent stripe across the lower-middle. This wasn't like the last time; the center in Bahrain had nice wood-paneled walls and benches along one side for visitors to sit. The suite there had a coffee maker. Instead, she was in a bare-bones recovery room and Oliver Wood was crammed into a tiny chair next to her bed. He nodded toward her and said,

"Morning."

Hermione tried to speak, but nothing came out. Oliver stood up, found one of the paper cups, and managed to help her sip some water before saying,

"You're at St. Mary's Hospital."

"Oliver?"

"Yeah?"

"Is …" She felt a tear escape but was too weak to wipe it away. "Do I still have my left arm?"

"Yes, Hermione." He placed his hand on her cheek and wiped the tear away with his thumb. "You still have both your arms."

"I can't feel my arm."

"That's because you just had surgery done and they've numbed it up. And you're high."

"I don't feel high."

"Yeah, and you don't feel your arm, either, so you might trust me on this one."

Hermione closed her eyes and fell backward into the darkness. She wasn't ready for this, yet. Not again.

.oOo.

Hermione looked down at her phone, waiting for a text. Colin should be nearby; he was never the sort to be late. When she looked up, the people across the street with their cameras and high-powered lenses were still there. She put her phone in her pocket and huffed,

"Next time we go out, I'm phoning ahead to ask if any spice girls are also expected. I thought the cameras were here for Gin, but I suppose she was just an unexpected addition. You can leave if you like, Ti, Colin should be here soon."

"I'll wait until he's here." Parvati looped her arm through Hermione's and said, "Now, about your birth control options—"

"Ti, I really don't want to have this conversation while there's a dozen cameras pointed at my face."

"Please, Hermione, if anyone lip reads our conversation then they've got far deeper issues than you trying to have sex without condoms."

Hermione sighed.

"It's never been an issue, not even with Ron. Sex was always sort of secondary for us, while I want sex to be part of my relationship with Draco in a serious way. If something happened and I became pregnant, I wouldn't be terrified of it the way I would be with anyone else."

"Do you think you want a child of your own?"

"No." Hermione shrugged. "But if you'd asked me this time last year what I thought of Draco Malfoy, I would've said he's a reclusive billionaire and never thought of him again. I'm not very good at projecting my own future, so I think I must be happy with what happens."

"Fair enough. My method worked for me until it didn't." Parvati said, far more accepting of her miscarriage than she had been a week prior. "My job is, really, only half translating. When I'm deciphering language I'm interpreting tonality and relationships, that sort of thing. I require a clear head, so hormonal birth control was never something I could work with. I need consistency and clarity; nobody wants a bitchy translator. If I do my job well enough it feels like I'm not present at all."

"What is your method, then?"

"You need to look at your cycle as maths and calculated risk. The first two days, I'm miserable. There is no sex, and Ced respects that. When I get home from work I cry into a pillow then eat an absurd amount of chicken tikka."

Hermione laughed.

"Days three through six I've got these disposable discs that sit up inside of you, but you can't feel them much at all. Because they sit up high enough, you can have penetrative sex." Parvati made a face and said, "I don't like it, though. It's messy. Ced and I have more inventive ways of getting each other off days three through six. Days seven through thirteen are the fun, carefree sex days of the cycle. Then the rest of the cycle is either pull out, condom, or occasionally I'd let him in the back door but …" She made another face. "Not my favourite thing to do."

"I don't think that's in the cards for me," said Hermione.

"Might be in the cards for your boyfriend."

Then it was Hermione who made the face.

"I know my body very well, or …" Parvati's face fell. "I thought I did. I thought I could trust it. Day fourteen was always nebulous. Sometimes we had sex without a condom, and I think that's how I got pregnant. I wasn't careful enough."

"If I understand, then, the first two weeks of the cycle are condom-free. Then it's condoms until the end of the cycle?"

"Or pull out, oral, whatever you choose to do as long as he's not finishing inside of you." Parvati nodded her head downward and said, "You've got great tits, I'm sure Malfoy would be happy to finish on them."

Hermione felt her entire face turn red.

"Who's to say he hasn't?"

"Ooh, are you enjoying the sex, then?"

"I am. Though I never considered he might enjoy being on the receiving end." Hermione admitted, "I'm not sure how I feel about it, or whether I'd be any good."

"You would be, you've got the countenance for it. And look at you! You're shagging a fit bloke, might be getting a house together, sharing a son, being a proper member of society after all this time. I'm proud of you."

Hermione's heart warmed. She squeezed Parvati's arm and admitted,

"I wasn't ready before. Draco was just as stuck as I was, and I think that is why we understand each other so well. It's working now." Hermione hesitated before asking, "Do you think Cedric will give you another chance?"

"I can't know." Parvati sighed heavily. "I talked to Lance last weekend, and he put things into perspective for me."

"He seemed to have a very solid outlook on life."

"He does; Lance is quite pragmatic about relationships. The way he spoke to me made me think I pushed Cedric too fast. I wanted Bastien's sort of love: immediate, powerful, above reproach. Instead, I got a love that burned so slowly it never reached me."

Hermione didn't say anything. There was nothing to say. Cedric was notoriously slow to fall in love, and Parvati was desperate for a love based on passion. They hadn't enough time to meet in the middle. Parvati nodded toward the cameras and said,

"It's funny, being friends with you and Ginny. You, being on telly all the time. Gin, being one of the most celebrated female athletes of the century. Even Padma's speaking at these high-profile conferences in bloody Bern or Berlin. I'm the only one of us whose job is to be invisible."

"There's more power in your job than any of ours."

Parvati chuckled softly and conceded, "I suppose that's true. I'm quite happy my bad hair days aren't photographed."

"Thank you," said Hermione, "for telling me about your method. It does seem like a risk balance proposition I'd take."

"You'd handle losing a baby better than I did. I thought it made me less of a woman." Parvati shrugged. "I know that isn't true, but it felt true."

"Sometimes that matters more—"

"HERMIONE!"

She turned toward Colin's voice then hugged Parvati—

.oOo.

The beeping.

The bloody beeping.

Hermione opened her eyes, a bit easier this time. The garish fluorescent lights were exhausting to look through. She rolled her head just the slightest bit to the left and saw Oliver was still in the uncomfortable-looking chair, scrolling through his phone. She managed to croak out,

"You remember the last time you saw me in hospital?"

"Yes," he replied without looking up. "As I recall, it was after your sixth surgery and three physical therapists. Potter found me through Ginny, who suggested me because I worked with Premiere League footballers. I learned to handle any and all levels of bullshit. I also have the unique quality of not being afraid of you."

"Wish more people did."

Oliver looked up and said, "Bullshit."

Hermione laughed, and her throat burned. It felt as though acid had come up from her stomach, or she'd screamed for a half hour on end. Oliver offered her water, which she sipped eagerly. Then he made for the door, saying over his shoulder,

"Doctor needs to be in."

He was back twenty seconds later with a decent-looking man in hospital scrubs. The man introduced himself as,

"Dr. Kettleburn, Ms. Granger. I performed the operation on your shoulder and Mr. Wood, here, has asked to give you the overview of what was done and what his plan is for the rehabilitation of the joint. I am here to provide additional insight if needed."

"Thank you." Oliver sighed and said, "Hermione, I won't lie, this day is going to be shit for you. You're going to have a lot of shit days."

Always the sunshine with him.

"You had a couple rather severe tears in your rotator cuff tendons, and things went about as well as they could have." Oliver was blessedly blunt in his descriptions. "They repaired the new tear in one tendon, and managed to sort of stretch the other tendon enough to screw it back into your shoulder. No true concerns there for me. Because of the damage, it necessitated what's called a reverse total shoulder replacement. It's exactly what we've talked about the past seven years, except the ball and socket is reversed."

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and tried to understand what that must look like. What they must've taken out of her to make that happen.

"Oi, Hermione," Oliver snapped his fingers to get her attention, "if you're going to have a breakdown, do it after I finish giving you the information."

She mumbled, "M'kay."

"They did a fairly new procedure to extend the life of the prosthesis and preserve the bones in your shoulder. I'm quite stoked to learn more about it, but it required the removal of the plate from your clavicle, so that is gone."

How many incisions had they made? Did she have stitches? Hermione still wasn't certain she had an arm—

Oliver snapped his fingers again and demanded, "Listen to the information. If this operation was successful, I think you'll get about eighty-five percent of the movement back in your arm. Lateral and rotational. This is going to change the quality of your life, and it will change your career for the better, I promise you."

Hermione smiled. Oliver didn't make promises he couldn't keep. Her emotions were an uncontrollable roller coaster, so low, then whisking her back into a high.

"It will take loads of physical therapy to get there. I'm not talking about you being in Wiltshire and me visiting weekly. That's gone, now. You need to be here in London, seeing me every day these first six weeks or so, and we're going to get your shoulder to where it needs to be. My core concerns are blood vessel damage that might've gone unnoticed because your arm wasn't moving for so long, and I am concerned about another dislocation. We've got to go easy on it, transition your way into the new range of motion. I am concerned your bones may be weakened, so we will keep an eye out for fractures as well. Overall, I am quite confident your arm will be mobile, Hermione."

"Thank you." Hermione wondered, "What happened? Why do I feel this weight in my chest? It's heavy," she pressed her right hand in the centre of her chest and said, "here."

Oliver's face crumbled. He shook his head and said,

"That's not for me to tell you. That comes after me."

"After you?"

"You've got a load of people in the waiting room hoping you're okay. I have the delightful task of telling them you'll be alright."

"Am I?" asked Hermione. "Going to be alright?"

"When aren't you?" Oliver stood up from his chair and said, "I'm going to give you a kiss on the cheek because I care for you and I can't hug you because they've just torn your whole fucking arm apart. Do me a favour and don't make it weird."

Hermione tilted her head the slightest bit and laughed when she noted Oliver's cheeks had turned just a bit pink. His lips lingered on her cheek before he whispered,

"You're not done fighting. No matter what you hear next, remember that. You're not done."

Oliver left quickly after that, leaving Hermione to wonder what he meant. Her brain was still fuzzy, logic unavailable to connect the bubbles of thought bouncing around her brain. A nurse came in a moment later. Perhaps more than a moment later. Time was nebulous at best. Reality was nebulous at best. Behind the nurse was … Cedric? Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and said,

"It's good to see you."

The nurse made her way to Hermione's right, where she could barely see. Hermione couldn't turn her head that direction at all. She noted some sort of ice pack, or several ice packs, trailing down her arm from her clavicle to the crook of her elbow. Cedric said,

"It's less good to see you. Bastien's dad phoned me because Pavi's not doing well. I plan to take her home; the sitting and waiting is no good for her."

"Of course." Hermione lazily waved her right hand about for a moment before it fell seemingly of its own accord. She looked at it, betrayed. Et tu, right hand? "She doesn't need to be here for me, I'm fine. Fine fine fine. Fiiiine."

Cedric pressed his lips together for a moment as if stifling a laugh. He then seemed to recall something somber and the smile vanished from his eyes.

"I'm telling you because I don't want you to blame her for leaving later on. I'm not giving her a choice in the matter. I am a bit pissed at your friends; this is the second time something's happened and nobody thought to phone me. You got fired and I would have been there for you, but nobody … Nobody told me what happened. Now this? Mr. Queensbury is the only person who realized I was needed, and I wasn't even needed for you. Are you angry at me?

Hermione gasped, "No! No, I'm never angry with you. You're perfect. Your hair's perfect, even. You're incredible. Marvelous. Fabulous. Glorious—"

"I don't need a thesaurus, Hermione," quipped Cedric. "I'm only saying I'm here for you, even if nobody knows they can ask me to be. I'm upset that they don't know to ask."

"You're my partner." That thought bubble was large and bright in Hermione's mind. "I love you. Never …" She sniffled. "Never felt like I had a home at BBC until you made one for me at Ten."

"You're sweet when you're high."

"I don't feel high."

"What is the last thing you remember?"

"Well …" Hermione grabbed a thought bubble and said, "I remember Draco driving me to dinner. I remember," she waved her hand around aimlessly, "butterflies in my stomach because he kissed me goodbye in front of cameras. Nobody had snogged me in front of cameras before except Cormac McLaggen …" Hermione huffed. "I've forgotten what I was answering."

Cedric offered, "The last thing you remember."

"Ah. Dinner." Hermione coughed a bit, her throat still raw and scratchy. Had she been screaming? "My friends had fish and chips, but I didn't want to have fish because Draco and I were meant to spend the night shagging at my flat …" Hermione frowned. "What happened?" She placed her palm overtop her chest again and asked, "Why do I feel heavy here? There is a weight on my chest."

Beep.

Cedric stood at her bedside and took Hermione's right hand in both of his.

"I hate that I am the one to tell you this, but …" He squeezed his eyes closed and tears rolled down his cheeks. "Everyone asked that I do it."

"What? Tell me what—my arm? I know, I know it's … I don't know what happened but I can't feel it at all." She tried to wiggle the fingers of her left hand. "I still can't feel my fingers."

"Outside the restaurant, you were robbed of your watch."

Her watch? Hermione didn't own particularly fancy watches. She had one from Coach that might've been worth a hundred pounds. Then there was the watch Ron had gifted her a few months into recovery, worth about three hundred pounds. On the face was a goldfish, and Ron had gotten it after she told him she felt powerless. Hermione had been shuttled from surgery to awards gala to physical therapy then back to surgery. Ron said he hoped the watch would remind her to "find ways to escape the fish bowl."

"I … Oh." Draco's watch. She'd been wearing the watch Draco gifted her. Hermione's heart somehow felt even heavier. "I lost the watch."

"Yeah, Hermione, I'm sorry. The watch is gone, and the people who robbed you knocked you onto the ground. They had to pull your arm upward and were less than gentle—"

Pavement against her cheek. Crying out for help. Vomiting onto the ground. All the memories of the moment came back at once. Hermione winced and shook her head,

"No. Don't say anymore. I'm beginning to remember and," she pressed the tips of her fingers to her throat, "I don't wish to."

"Colin came running to your aid. He heard your screams and pushed the man off you. Then his partner stabbed Colin in the torso."

"Oh," Hermione winced. "That will ruin his photography for awhile. Thank God we were so near to Paddington. What, it's only five minutes to St. Mary's. Any longer and he …" Hermione noted Cedric's face. "He might …" Cedric was staring at the floor. "He might not have …"

Beep.

"Colin was stabbed in the abdomen. The first one nicked his aortic artery and the second his kidney. He was fine for awhile, was here at St. Mary's getting checked out for several minutes before he began hemorrhaging. Colin died seven hours ago."

Hermione closed her eyes and shook her head as best she could.

"No." She shook her head again and insisted, "No, I don't want to hear it. Leave, come back in, and tell me something else."

"Hermione—"

"I said no!" she screamed, though the words tore at her throat. "I won't let another person die because they were in front of me! I don't ask to be protected, I'm not worth the lives of other people, I don't want it. They can have mine, take mine, give Colin his. I don't care, I don't want to do this, I don't want to live with a metal arm and the blood of my friends on my hands. I don't want it—"

Then her eyelids were heavy. She noted the nurse placing something into her IV.

"No, I was …" She leaned into the pillows. "I was … talking …"

.oOo.

Girls' night was fun. Hermione had laughed so much she worried her eyeliner might smudge from how her eyes teared up. Parvati looked better than she had in well over a month. There was light in her eyes again. Ginny was ecstatic because Harry took the boys to the park during lunch. Hermione felt so much relief any time Harry made progress. They'd been so close to losing him time and time again, only for him to retire and spend a full year inches away from suicide. Watching his slow crawl toward normalcy was painful, but it was far better than sliding in the other direction. Padma was reserved, but that was hardly new.

Bits and pieces of the evening came back.

"I told Scorpius I would be his second mother," said Hermione. She poked at some of her fish and admitted, "It was one of the happiest moments of my life. I never pictured being a mum, but it feels right."

"Being a mum is a bit like being a footballer, in that you're always running around fending off attacks. Then, right when you're meant to be done—BAM!" Ginny slammed her palm on the table. "Extra time. You're running around and suddenly it's ten o'clock at night."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. Padma looked a bit pale. Parvati used her fork to poke at the fish on her plate.

"I'm sure you'll be great." Ginny admitted, "It's easier when you only have one child. I'd like to go for three, but Harry's struggling with two right now."

"I'm struggling with negative one," quipped Parvati. She noted that everyone else seemed to be holding their breath and said, "It was a joke. You can laugh. I'm trying to accept the situation, it helps if you do, too."

"Seems sequential, then," offered Hermione. She pointed to Parvati and said, "Negative one." She gestured to Padma and said, "Zero." She used her fork to point up at herself, "One." Then toward Ginny, "Two."

"We need some Patil babies," teased Ginny, "and as Ti's been benched it's up to you, Padma. Though your husband is permanently glued to the proverbial bench."

"Even so," wondered Padma, "would I make a good mother if it was possible?"

"A hundred percent," said Hermione. "I think you'd be rather pragmatic about it, and Bastien would be a hilariously great dad. Could you even imagine him holding an infant?"

Parvati added, "You'd barely be able to see a baby past his biceps."

"As a mum," replied Ginny, "the best mums are the ones who know how to do two things: listen to your kids and discipline them. If your kids know that you hear them, that you consider their perspectives to be valid ones, then they're far more willing to accept the punishment you dish out. You, Padma, would do that better than any of us. You'd lawyer your way through their whole childhood; your kid would be a solicitor at fourteen."

They dissolved into giggles, and Hermione hadn't realized how much she missed this camaraderie until it was right in front of her. She could be normal—she was normal.

"Oh! I forgot to mention …" She grinned. "Draco's planning to buy a house in London."

.oOo.

There was a weight on Hermione's right side. The beeping continued.

Colin was dead.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Hermione cracked her right eye open and saw a tiny head of white-blond hair resting against her shoulder. She moved her hand to rest on Scorpius's back, feeling the steady up and down of his chest against her. His breath came in long, tiny wooshes of air.

"He brought a pillow for you."

Blaise Zabini's voice was soft. Hermione didn't have the energy to look at him. She opened her left eye and noted a tree-shaped pillow in the bed at her feet. Hermione closed her eyes and—

Colin was dead.

.oOo.

"Bastien is retiring in a year."

Parvati and Ginny didn't seem surprised. Hermione wondered,

"Is it for school?"

"No." Padma blushed. "No, Bastien and I have decided to take our lives in a different direction. Boxing has been part of him for a long time, but it has also strained his body for two decades. His liver is feeling quite delicate, and my man loves a good drink."

Hermione envied the way she said 'my man' with such ease. Draco was many things: my partner, my confidant, my love. Was he 'my man?' Draco's masculinity was odd, a bit nebulous, nothing at all what it looked like for Ron and Viktor. It sure as hell was not the sort of masculinity in Bastien Queensbury. She mentioned,

"You don't seem upset about his retirement."

"I was."

Parvati frowned and asked, "No longer?"

"No."

Padma didn't elaborate. Ginny changed the subject, but Hermione recalled how upset Padma was on the phone. Bastien and I had an argument, and it's entirely my fault. What changed?

.oOo.

Hermione forced her eyes open, but everything was blurry. It took several seconds before her eyes could focus on anything except that hideous blue stripe along the wall.

"Is there someone you wish to see next?"

Beep.

Blaise Zabini sat straight in the hospital chair, eyes clear, purposeful. As though he'd been set to a task and understood how best to do it. Scorpius slept softly in the bed next to her, though his head had shifted to the pillow.

Beep.

Hermione asked, "What time is it?"

"Seven in the morning."

"Who is here?"

Zabini asked, "Would you like the full list?"

Beep.

"Yes."

"Ginny and Padma are here. Bastien is here, and Theo arrived a half hour ago. Your ex-husband, Harry Potter, Dean, and I am told the Longbottoms will be here at seven-thirty this morning. Narcissa was here, but I am told she left because she would be useful elsewhere. Your publicist is here as well, with a Bluetooth earpiece permanently attached to her head. Cedric Diggory was here, but he's taken Parvati Patil home."

The list ended. Zabini was silent for several seconds. Hermione asked,

"Have you forgotten my boyfriend?"

"No. He is elsewhere."

Elsewhere.

"I'm in hospital and Draco isn't even here?"

"He was here. Evidently, he nearly came to blows with your ex-husband. It is my understanding they were arguing about his input on your surgery."

"His input?"

Beep.

"Whether he should have any."

Everything inside of Hermione turned to rage. The world was still fuzzy around the edges, but the audacity of Ron to think he could have input while Draco couldn't?

"I'll kill him."

Blaise smiled the slightest bit and said, "There were discussions about the type of shoulder replacement you would receive. As Harry Potter is your next of kin, Weasley and Draco argued over input, then the three of them came to a conclusion I imagine was rather difficult to see through all the testosterone."

"Draco has a reason not to be here." Hermione confidently insisted, "If he's not here, then I believe he has good reason. Will you send for Gin and Padma?"

He texted Ginny, presumably, and they waited in silence save for the beeping.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Bee—

The door flew open and Ginny rushed to Hermione's bedside, with Padma close behind. Ginny grabbed her hand and said,

"Everyone is so worried."

Hermione shrugged with her available shoulder and asked, "Why should you be? I don't recall much of what Cedric said to me, but I remember thinking it sounded as though Ti was thinking about jumping off a bridge. Colin's dead. At least I have my arm. Comparatively, I've made it out best, haven't I?"

Neither Padma nor Gin knew what to say. Hermione noted they were still in their clothes from dinner. If it was seven in the morning, they hadn't changed in over twelve hours. Her heart softened a bit. This wasn't their fault in the least. Once she let the rage fade, all the sadness and heartache took over. She wiped the tears from her eyes as she said,

"The reason I asked for you …" She sniffled. "I can feel how dirty I am. I was on the ground, I remember being on the ground and seeing shoes. Someone's shoes. My hair feels disgusting, and I can't do anything about it."

"No need to ask, Hermione." Padma said, "We will fix your hair—"

"I will go to your flat and get some clothes," added Ginny. "The others—"

"No." Hermione was adamant, "I don't want them to see me like this. It was so … So hard on Ron … For weeks I could hardly look at my own face in the mirror. I don't wish to put him through that again." She added, "I would rather Draco never go through it at all."

Scorpius lifted his head off the pillow and offered Hermione a sleepy smile.

"Maman!"

She tried to keep her voice steady when she said, "Good morning, baby blond. Will you do me the biggest favour?"

He nodded.

"Will you let Blaise take you home so you can shower and make lunch?"

Another nod.

"Good. I will come home to you as soon as I can."

"Okay." Scorpius yawned and said, "I brought you my tree pillow. It always makes me feel better."

"Thank you. I do feel better."

He grinned and said, "It's working!"

"Of course it is." Hermione looked at Blaise and hoped he understood Scorpius was not meant to return to hospital. "I will see you soon."

.oOo.

Hermione stared at the screen of her phone. It was ten o'clock in the morning and she made the mistake of Googling herself. The cardinal rule of maintaining a healthy outlook on life was to never, under any circumstances, type your own name into Google.

Granger in Danger

Watch Out, Hermione Granger!

BBC Journalist Robbed of Watch

Hermione in Hospital

Each article had a different screenshot of her vomiting onto the pavement. Some included high-resolution stills of her unconscious with her dislocated shoulder pushing against the sleeve of her blouse.

BBC journalist, Hermione Granger, was robbed of her watch after dining out last night. Photographers were camped across the street, waiting for Mel B to make her exit, and captured the full incident on video. Granger's left arm was permanently damaged after an incident while on assignment for BBC eight years ago. The assailants attacked that same arm, as Granger was wearing the watch on her left wrist. According to sources, the watch was a gift from her boyfriend, Draco Malfoy, valued at £38,000.

"Permanently damaged" as though she's a car? Pull up to the Ferrari showroom and ask for the pre-owned section. Here's our 2018 GTC4Lusso with Blu Pozzi exterior and 1200 miles on the odometer. Next, this is our 1984 HJGranger with significant body damage, dings to the paint, and a million miles ...

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Hermione Granger is currently undergoing surgery for two torn rotator cuff tendons and will also undergo a reverse total shoulder replacement. Colin Creevey, who pushed the attacker off Ms. Granger, was stabbed twice in the abdomen. He later died at St. Mary's Hospital.

Update: Sources say the surgery on Hermione Granger's arm was successful.

The door to her hospital room opened and her friends rushed in with armfuls of stuff. Ginny and Padma were first at her bedside, while an unexpected guest stayed put in the doorframe. Hermione held out her right arm and said,

"Come here, Ti."

Parvati nearly sprinted over and hugged Hermione as best she could without jostling the left arm. She sobbed,

"I'm so sorry. I never should've left you—"

"You were gone twenty seconds, there was nothing you could've done." Hermione squeezed her tight before gently pushing her away. "This isn't your fault any more than it's mine."

Parvati sniffled and pulled her hair back with a bobble. She nodded, half to herself and half to Hermione.

"Padma told me you've got concerns about the boys seeing your face all fucked-up. I can't leave your makeup in the hands of these two, so I am here and ready to serve."

Hermione laughed. A real, genuine laugh. No matter what, Parvati always managed to bring a single ray of sunshine to a moment. Parvati said,

"Doctors told us they'll be in a half hour from now to take the ice packs off your arm. That'll be the first time you see it and I want us here for that."

Hermione agreed that was best. Parvati grabbed two tops from Ginny's arms and held them up. The first was a green blouse with blue polka dots, long sleeves, and a frilly collar. The second was a black and white knit top with short sleeves. They both buttoned down the front for easy access to the arm. The arm, because it didn't feel like part of her. Ginny said,

"I didn't know whether you wanted to be covered or to give the world the middle finger."

Hermione asked, "Why cover it up any longer? The whole world can watch one of the worst moments of my life on repeat. Let me be cute, then."

Ginny held up a pair of black trousers.

"If you're photographed, black's the most slimming." She held up the pair on the right. "These are more flowy, and I think that's best, but if you want to show off your arse I also brought another pair."

"Flowy is good."

The three of them worked together like a well-oiled machine. They managed to get Hermione in the centre of the hospital bed so Padma could work on her hair while Parvati did the makeup. Padma had brought several cloths and water bottles to wipe the grime from Hermione's hair. Parvati kept pulling brushes and products from a pouch that seemed far too small to hold so many things.

"My plan is a hydrating mask, then a tinted sunscreen, then the usual eyeliner, mascara, and a nice natural look for your eyebrows. I always think the makeup department at BBC goes a bit small with yours—"

"I just don't want Draco to see me the way Ron did years ago. He never got over it."

"Draco's far more capable at bouncing back than my idiot brother," quipped Ginny. "Ron's got a big heart and sometimes that holds him back. Held you back, too."

Padma began toweling the dirt from Hermione's hair and separating the curls. Parvati was doing whatever she wanted with Hermione's makeup. Ginny helped get Hermione out of the hospital gown and into a nice pair of knickers and the flowy trousers. She waited until the other two were finished to help Hermione out of the top half of the gown and into a bra then the knit top. Ginny rolled the left sleeve up to the top of the ice packs and managed to get Hermione's left arm through. Watching Ginny lift her arm up and through the top like a marionette was beyond embarrassing. Hermione wondered aloud,

"When people Google me, how many of the images do you think will be me with my face on the ground and vomit in my hair?" She added, "How many of them do you think will have Colin bleeding out in the background?"

Nobody answered. Padma pulled half of Hermione's hair back and secured it with a clip. They stood around for a minute before the doctor came in.

Dr. Kettleburn struck Hermione as a kind, enthusiastic sort of man. She supposed that was the best sort of disposition in a trauma surgeon. He offered her a smile and said,

"Good morning again, Ms. Granger. It's time to take the ice packs off your arm. Would you like your friends to stay in the room?"

"Yes." She looked at Ginny, Padma, and Parvati. Their presence was calming. "They should stay."

Dr. Kettleburn approached her arm cautiously, then took her left hand in both of his. She watched him make rubbing motions but felt nothing.

"Can you feel that?"

"Not at all."

"That should just be the numbness, but I'll check hourly until you're discharged. Let's see what we've got." The doctor began undoing the ice packs and hummed softly. "We did this a few hours ago while you were asleep and it was looking good. Quite as expected."

Hermione turned her head as far to the right as it would go, averting her gaze. The doctor's hands were gentle, steady. She couldn't feel her arm so much as the warm air hitting each bit of her skin as the ice pack was pulled away.

"There we are!"

The doctor's voice was rather gleeful as he pulled the final ice pack away. Hermione tried to move her fingers and managed a tiny wiggle of the first one. She asked,

"How bad is it?"

"Not bad at all." The doctor said, "Your stiches for both incisions are some of my best work. The scar from your prior procedure healed so nicely, I did my best to do just as good a job. Everything about the surgery went smoothly. I didn't believe we would be able to reattach one of your rotator cuff tendons, but your musculature is incredible. You have such strength in the tendon considering its limited use over a prolonged period."

Hermione closed her eyes and said, "Don't tell my physical therapist. He'll probably ask to record you then play it back when I call him a git."

"There was a partial tear in the tendon that had previously been torn, and a total tear of a second tendon. I'll get a mirror so you can see—"

"NO!" Hermione shouted. "No, no, I don't wish to see it. My friends can tell me how it looks." Hermione glanced at the three of them, their faces indifferent. Hermione grimaced and insisted, "Will you tell me, please?"

Padma was first to ask, "Did you tear her arm off and sew it back together?"

"Yes," replied the doctor, "essentially."

"It looks like hell, Hermione." Parvati shook her head. "It's going to take a long time to fix this. It looks more like you nearly got your arm blown off than it did before. They sliced your shoulder completely open. Look at that." Parvati placed the tip of one finger atop her shoulder, then followed the stitching downward in a half-moon shape to the bottom of her armpit. "All the skin there has been stitched together."

It was the entire front of her shoulder, then. Hermione sank, once again, into resigned acceptance. Just another scar for Draco to avoid while fucking her. Another reason to cover up. Again, again, again. More of the same. Hermione asked,

"Is it normal I can't feel anything?"

"Yes," replied the doctor, "the numbing should wear off in an hour. At that point we'll get you some painkillers and you'll be able to leave before dinner this evening if the feeling returns."

She looked down at her hands and asked, "Can you send Ron in?"

Padma asked, "Would you like us to stay?"

"No." Hermione insisted, "Go home. Clean up; you've been here as long as I have. If something changes, Draco will let you know. If he's here, at any rate."

"He's here," confirmed Ginny.

"Good. Good, then." She chucked and admitted, "I'm rather like the queen today, accepting visitors then sending you all off."

Parvati curtsied and said, "We are quite at your leisure."

It warmed Hermione's heart for a moment to see Parvati's humour return. Whatever Cedric had said seemed to be exactly what Ti needed to hear.

"Thank you," said Hermione, "all of you. I could not dream of better friends. I owe you—"

"Nothing," said Ginny. "We're friends. Friends don't ask for payment, they just show up and be friends."

"Not everyone has people who would show up," replied Hermione. "I'm so glad the three of you have. I love you so much."

"As we love you."

The three of them gave Hermione one-armed hugs, each staring at what Hermione presumed was a rather Frankenstein-like series of stitches around her left shoulder. Then she was alone again.

Beep.

Beep.

Hermione groaned low in her throat as she realized this was exactly where a bra strap would hit. As if she didn't have enough issues finding pretty bras that closed in the front. Did anyone make a strapless, front close—

"Hey."

Ron appeared in the doorway. He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. She watched as he slowly approached her, staring at the floor. He mumbled,

"This is all quite familiar."

"The trauma centre in Bahrain was much nicer."

Ron chuckled and said, "I grant you that."

Hermione's voice wavered when she asked, "Will you do me a favour?"

"Anything."

"I want you to look at my arm and tell me what you think. Not as my friend, but …" She looked up at the ceiling. She couldn't look at him when she admitted, "I want you to look at it as someone who had sex with me and tell me whether it would turn you off."

Ron shook his head and insisted, "You know it wouldn't."

"But I need you to look and tell me that." Hermione unbuttoned the top half of her shirt then tugged the sleeve down to expose her left shoulder. She demanded, "Look at this and tell me Draco won't feel I'm less desirable now. Please."

Hermione watched Ron's face as his eyes trailed from the stitching at the top of her shoulder and downward to the bottom. He shook his head and said,

"I'd forgotten about the rest of them."

Oh. Hermione supposed he hadn't seen her chest and stomach in seven years. The memory of this must've been so new when they divorced that he'd forgotten all these years later. The squares of skin set apart by tiny lines, slightly darker than the rest. A few raised scars from where things hadn't healed. This new series of stitching would soon be another.

"You were my husband." Hermione sniffled and said, "I'd like Draco to be that someday. I need you to tell me this looks okay, even if it's a lie. I need to hear it from you more than anyone, because I love you. I trust you. And I need you to lie to me."

Ron exhaled, his breath shaky. He stepped up to the side of her bed and placed his hand on her left shoulder.

"It's bad, Hermione. You know I'm not going to lie to you, I love you. It's funny, uh, Emma said something to me a few days ago. Someone mentioned something about our relationship and she said, 'Of course Ron loves Hermione more than me, but he chose me and that matters more.' What she means to say is that, no matter what, you are my best friend. Harry, too, but different. I'd never fuck Harry."

Hermione smiled a bit.

"I wanted it to work, Hermione, I did. I just …" Ron shrugged. "I can't lie to you. It looks awful. You're going to hate it when you see it. But as for fucking you? 'Mione. You're my girl, and I wouldn't've cared about the scars. My only care was for whether you felt confident enough to take your clothes off, and you didn't. That's why I filed for divorce. You didn't love me enough to see I wouldn't care what you looked like. You couldn't see through all the pain so you ran the fuck off to Libya and … I had to choose between a lot of things."

"I'm sorry—"

"Don't be. We would've wound up divorced anyway because you didn't want kids. I'm not stupid, I knew you kept putting it off for a reason. Malfoy's already got a kid. You seem to like him—"

"Obviously."

"He's respectful toward you, he's defensive of you, I hate saying it but you could've done far worse. Besides, now that Dean's engaged—"

"What?!"

"Oh, right, yeah, s'pose he hasn't actually told anyone. He and Zabini think they're keeping it secret but Zabini wears his shirts unbuttoned quite low—"

"And you're looking?" teased Hermione.

"—wearing the engagement ring on a chain around his neck. He leaned forward and I think half the bloody hospital could see the sparkle on that thing. How the hell Dean managed to afford it …" Ron shrugged. "Doesn't matter. Yeah, I'm fucking looking because it's like looking at a sculpture in a museum. It's unnatural he's so pretty. He's handsome, he's pretty, he's inhuman." Ron shuddered. "Again, questions about myself I don't want answered."

"Why would they keep it secret?"

"I'm not meant to tell anyone, but his sister told Gin that Blaise and Dean went to visit the whole family a couple weeks ago. It didn't go well, because you know his sisters all still like Seamus. Ava blew up at him, so Zabini disappeared for a couple days. Dean found him in Italy and asked to marry him. Zabini said yes, and Dean hasn't spoken to any of his sisters since."

"Oh." Hermione frowned. "That must be killing him."

"I don't think it is. He hasn't put the Seamus thing behind him. Until he does, it's all going to get more complicated."

"That's a problem for later, I suppose." Hermione held out her good arm and asked, "Will you hug me?"

Ron situated himself around the wires and her left arm as best he could to give her a tight squeeze around the middle. He kissed her cheek much differently than Oliver had. Hermione remembered this—

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Ron lingered. He was so safe. That's the best part about him, he would put his life on the line for any one of his friends. He'd put his life on the line for Hermione without question. His lips were soft and warm, and Hermione fought against every instinct to turn her head and kiss him full-on. Hermione placed her hand on the back of his head and held him close. She whispered,

"There's a world out there where we make it together, you know."

"Not this one," he said. "But we tried."

Hermione let him go. She said,

"Tell Harry to come in."

Ron left quickly, so Hermione was left on her own with the beeping. It was best not to linger in this moment for either of them. Too many memories of hospital beds, hospital gowns, wound dressings, physical therapist after physical therapist … Hermione stared at the blue line on the wall until it blurred around the edges. Harry appeared in her room a minute later, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. He confirmed as much when he said,

"I seem to spend more time at hospital than at home these days."

"Come here, give me a hug, then go home."

Harry obliged, then asked, "Malfoy next?"

Hermione's heart sank all the way down to her stomach. She looked down at her left hand, took it in her right, lifted it to chest height then watched it fall onto the bed. She felt next to nothing.

"Send him in." Hermione sniffled. "I can't put it off any longer. Will you help button my top before you go?"

As Harry buttoned her shirt, he said, "I know you think this makes you less attractive. But the thing that's always made you attractive is your relentlessness and you bending the world to your will. The scars show how much you've survived, and I know how important that is. Sometimes I think what happened wasn't real. Like it happened to someone else." Harry paused before admitting, "People always expect the scars to trigger something, but it's quite the opposite for me. When I was low … Erm, my lowest, you know."

Hermione confirmed, "I know."

"Seeing the physical reminders of what happened, I remember I fucking did that. I stood up for what's right, what's humane. I feel like I did something to earn them. It helps me to see it that way."

"Thank you for being here. I know it's hard—"

"You needed me. I'm your next of kin for a reason, but I think Malfoy will do a fine job of it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Send him in, then?"

"Alright. I love you, you know."

Hermione tried to squeeze his hand, but her fingers still couldn't quite move. She said,

"I know. You know I'll be here for you the same way when you need me."

"You were. You have been." Harry squeezed her good hand and said, "We'll get through shit together; we always have."

Harry left, and Draco appeared as though he'd been waiting just outside the door. Hermione was in disbelief, once again, that she had a boyfriend who looked like that when her body had become little more than an Etch-a-Sketch. He was so pretty. Draco Malfoy was the sort of man who had no bad angles and infuriatingly perfect hair. He had changed clothes, wearing a cream-coloured hoodie and jeans. All Hermione could think was,

"That looks soft."

"It's a cashmere wool blend."

"Oh."

"It's Moncler, picked it up at Selfridges months ago. I needed to change clothes after my … errand." Draco shuddered. "Not my finest moment."

Hermione poked at her left arm and said, "Nor mine."

Draco looked rather pained when he admitted, "I don't know what to say."

Hermione leaned backward and nestled into the pillows.

"You needn't stay in the doorway. I asked for you because I want you here."

"I don't feel right coming in. I feel terrible. This has happened to me more times than I can remember. I was so caught up in the excitement of making our life together here, in London, it never crossed my mind to tell you to take off the watch. It would be naïve of me to believe I am the man you need right now."

Hermione frowned and insisted, "I do need you."

"In the weeks and months to come, yes, I will be here for you. Your ex-husband and I have talked, and I think …" He grimaced. "It turns my stomach to say it, but you need him more than you need me right now. This is something he knows how to deal with."

"No," said Hermione, "he doesn't. That's why he is my ex-husband, Draco. You can't go making decisions for me like this—"

"I can, because you're quite literally breaking apart and everything about our relationship is new. It is wonderful, Hermione, being in love with you. Being yours. However, Ginny, Dean, and Weasley have agreed to help you through these first days. Along with Oliver Wood, of course. You will stay in my room at Blaise's home, and Dean will be there for you every hour of the day. Ginny and her brother are a mere phone call away."

"And what will you be doing?"

Draco stood straighter and replied, "I am assisting Colin's brother with the funeral preparations, working with Wiltshire County to set aside room in the public gardens."

"Why would you bury Colin on your property?"

"He died trying to protect you." Draco insisted, "There is nothing more important to me than you and my son. You may not have my name, and you may not want it, but you are part of the Malfoy family. Colin died to protect the woman I love down to the depths of my very soul, and I will be damned if he is not given the resting place befitting that sacrifice."

Hermione allowed that to sink in. Colin rarely mentioned his brother, but when he did it was always with fondness. They had grown distant with time, but the love lingered for Colin, at least. Colin, who was so kind and understanding. A man who chose not to judge people and met them where they were. Her driver and so much more. He'd been so happy to see Hermione's life on the upswing—and she was the reason he died.

Hermione's heart ached. She thought about Colin and wiped the tears from her eyes. Her friends had done their best to avoid speaking about him, avoiding the grief. Draco was crying, too. His eyes were red and puffy. It made sense that he would embrace the pain of loss, it's all he'd done for years. He tried to blink away the tears and stared up at the ceiling.

"I'm so sad." Hermione sobbed. "I suggested Colin meet me after dinner. This is entirely my fault."

"Don't think like that. Those people are cruel, and Colin knew as much. They'd have slit your throat if they thought it would make their task easier, cameras be damned. Colin knew what he was doing, which is why he gave them another score. He traded his camera for their departure. If you could ask Colin right now if he regrets what he did, he would tell you absolutely fucking not. The only solace I take in this is that I trusted Colin to protect you. We all trusted him and he proved us right."

"I didn't want to be protected, I wanted dinner with my friends."

"With the sort of money I have, Hermione, you always need protection." Draco insisted, "Perhaps that's what you don't understand and I should've done a better job telling you. There are five people in the world who are permitted to drive my son in a car. Well—" Draco wiped his eyes and said, "Four, now. You, me, Blaise, and my mum. Nobody else. I chose Scorpius's school because of their security. His French tutor went through four months of background and reference checks. Our staff are all housed on the property because it develops a community and it means our security is their security. Precaution is built into the way my family operates and I got so caught up in being with you that I forgot you have to learn what it means to be with me. That is my fault entirely."

"I should've known."

"You grew up middle class. You cannot understand what my wealth means, Hermione. I know you've been around war lords and their opulence, but it isn't generational. Name me a company right now. The biggest one you can think of."

Hermione frowned before offering, "Linde? I think they're top three in the country—"

"Perfect example. They're processing plants for gases, would fit perfectly into the Malfoy Holdings portfolio. Our company has about four hundred fifty million in assets available, I have a hundred million in personal assets immediately available, plus Blaise whose combined wealth is well over a trillion pounds. If I decided it was the best available scenario, I could put up our assets, get backing from Blaise, and purchase Linde's two hundred billion pound company in about three months." Draco shrugged. "I could fold their decarbonization portfolio into the supply chain I've created, working my way toward owning the complete cycle. Sustainability and good business all in one."

Hermione blinked.

"You just … You just think of buying a company and then … then you buy it?"

"Nearly the same way you buy shoes."

"Then why haven't you?" asked Hermione. "Why haven't you purchased something—"

"Because I'm fucking exhausted and can barely find time for my son, let alone time for you. I'm not interested in owning the world, Hermione, I'm interested in being part of it. In living my life in it." He grimaced and admitted, "There were moments last night when I thought I may not be able to live it with you. It was like Tori all over again, watching what happened. I felt powerless."

"As did I."

That seemed to hit Draco somewhere deep. He pressed his palm against his stomach and said,

"Scorpius was an angel through this. He never worried about you. Blaise took him to a chapel for the first time and he won't stop chatting about it. Evidently, Blaise tried to teach him to pray."

"Oh."

Draco finally stepped into the room and slowly walked to Hermione's bedside.

"He said he asked God to keep you safe, then as proof that you deserve to live, I suppose, he sat in a pew and thought through every memory he believed God would take as evidence. His pedicure, his car tyre shoes, his car rides with you … Blaise said it took him twenty minutes."

"Please thank Blaise for taking him." Hermione guessed, "That must have been a large step for him, returning to church." She wondered, "Have you heard anything about an engagement?"

Draco raised his eyebrows in shock as he finally stopped at her side.

Beep.

Beep.

"If I had, I would have been sworn to secrecy."

"I'm happy for them. They make a beautiful couple. I wish I hadn't become even worse for you to stand next to—"

"You know I don't care about that."

"It's easy to say—"

"You could be nothing more than a head and pair of tits on a stick, Hermione, and I'd still love you."

Hermione laughed and admitted, "I believe you."

"The sexiest thing you can do is survive." Draco shook his head and said, "Every day you wake up, I'm satisfied. You woke up today. I am satisfied."

She allowed that to linger. Were it true, and she could hardly doubt the conviction in Draco's voice, perhaps her scars weren't the terrible curse she believed them to be. While that fear faded away, the rage began to creep in. Draco had money. The Malfoys were well-known for secretly having their enemies offed. If anyone deserved to be murdered, it was whomever stole the life from Colin Creevey. The kindest of souls taken for nothing more than a timepiece. Every part of Hermione felt heavy with guilt, so she asked Draco,

"You said you love me to the depths of your soul?"

He nodded and confirmed, "Down to the darkest parts."

Hermione said, in the softest whisper she could manage, "Can you hold the people who did this accountable?"

Draco placed his fingers against her cheek and ran the pad of his thumb along the fullest part of her lower lip.

"You cannot ask that of me."

"I—"

"You cannot ask it of me because the wheels are already in motion." Draco shook his head and traced the outline of her lips with his thumb. "I knew you would ask. I know what it would take out of you to start this chain of events. It will blacken your soul, golden girl, and I won't let that happen. This vengeance is mine."

Hermione's emotions settled immediately. Once she realized Draco had everything under control, the tension faded from her body. She'd been carrying so many feelings, so much anguish over the past hours, Hermione hadn't realized how tired she truly was.

"Penelope tipped off a photographer she trusts. There will be photos of us exiting hospital together, and I will drive you to Blaise's before heading to Wiltshire. Colin's ceremony is planned for next Saturday, provided we can have everything prepared in time. I will be in London every moment I can spare until then. Afterward, I will be here with you. My son and I are moving in with Blaise until he returns to school."

Hermione closed her eyes and mumbled, "Oliver's going to be insufferable."

"He cares for you, as we all do."

"Are you staying?"

"Until you're discharged, I will be here. Blaise took Scorpius home, he said by your leave. Everyone else has gone except Weasley, and his wife said he can stay as long as you are in hospital."

Hermione groaned, "I hate how nice she is to me."

"You look exhausted, Hermione." Draco leaned down to steal a quick, chaste kiss. He whispered, "I'll leave you alone to sleep, but don't allow yourself to fall too deep into the grief. You're going to feel like shit until we lay Colin to rest; I know better than most. Take the time you need. Months, even, if you need. Give yourself the grace you deserve, mourn Colin, and I will be here to catch everything you choose to let fall away."

Hermione nodded and said, "Thank you for knowing exactly what I needed to hear."

"It's what I wish someone had told me." Draco sighed and said, "I wish I could have told myself that, but … I was afraid if I let one thing in my life slip out of place then it would all crumble around me in a way I'd never repair. I won't let that happen to you. I will keep your life steady, I …" He laughed and shook his head, as though he'd only just realized something. "I'll be the ground you walk on."

Hermione placed her right hand on his sleeve and said, "It is soft."

"Go to sleep, golden girl."

She closed her eyes and said, "Sometimes I do like when you tell me what to do."

.oOo.

It must've been five-thirty when she received visitors again. Hermione was in the centre of the bed, legs crossed, staring at her laptop. She jumped when the door opened and someone shouted,

"Hermione!"

She pressed her body low into the stiff hospital mattress. That was the last voice she wanted to hear: her father's voice. Her parents came into the hospital room and Hermione grit her teeth. Her mother rushed to her side and placed a hand on her thigh.

"Oh, we jumped on the first flight here. How are you?"

"I'm in hospital, mum. How do you think I'm doing?" snapped Hermione. "They pulled my arm apart, cut out the muscle, and replaced it with metal."

"I'm sorry—"

"Stop it." Hermione held up her right hand and said, "Stop it."

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The beeps were in her head. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and tried to block it all out. She felt her mother's hand on her thigh and her father's gaze on her left shoulder. The last time Hermione found herself in hospital with her left arm hanging onto her clavicle by little more than a thread, her parents arrived in much the same manner.

We flew in on the first flight to Bahrain.

How are you doing?

You look great, Hermione.

Beep.

"You look great, Hermione," her father said as he patted her knee. "Ron's out in the waiting room, still quite torn up."

Ron.

She asked, "Did he phone you?"

"Sorry?"

"Ron. Did he phone you?"

"No," said her mother, "we heard of it when a friend texted me. You were robbed in daylight in front of a pool of cameras, Hermione. We knew not long after the video surfaced on the internet. We hadn't spoken to Ron until we arrived." She huffed, "We hadn't spoken to anyone before we arrived, and considering we are your parents I'd have expected more communication."

"Did you ever consider that no one phoned you because I don't want you here?"

Beep.

Beep.

Her parents seemed a bit befuddled. Her mother said,

"No, it never crossed our minds you wouldn't want us here. We are your parents and you've been severely injured; you've gone through traumatic surgery."

"Colin died."

There was a brief pause before Hermione's father asked, "Who is Colin?"

Hermione scoffed, "The man who saved me from further injury. The man who died because he was trying to protect me. That is Colin Creevey, dad."

"Ah. We hadn't heard anything—"

"If you cared to know about my life, you'd know about Colin." Hermione revealed, "He's been driving me well over a year. Colin has been nothing short of perfect."

Her mother offered, "I'm sorry to hear that he's passed."

"Of course you are," spat Hermione. "I've been sat here for an hour watching people make stained glass lamps on YouTube. The video's only fifteen minutes long, but I've watched it four times. Midway through five, now. I keep watching it and thinking, 'Perhaps I should've bought Colin a lamp.'" Hermione shrugged. "Now he's got no need for a lamp. Because of me. He's dead because of me and you come in here to ask how the bloody hell I'm doing." She angrily spun the laptop around so the screen was facing them and said, "This. This is what I'm doing until they let me out of this awful hospital. Then I'll be at Blaise Zabini's house on a bed that's not mine, watching videos about how they make teapots."

Her father offered, "At least you're learning something?"

It fell flat. Hermione shook her head and sighed.

"You haven't visited me in two years. I am your child. You left me. My husband divorced me and you fled the country. How am I meant to see you, mum?" asked Hermione. "You're not listed as my next of kin. You can't be. You're halfway across the world, so how could you be here for me?"

Hermione watched her mother's face fall as she realized there was no way out of this. The truth was painful, but perhaps this was the first time the distance had benefited Hermione instead of benefiting her parents. She said,

"Harry is my next of kin, and there is no one else I would have wanted making this decision for me."

"We want to be here for you while you're in pain, Hermione. That's why we came all this way." Her mother insisted, "We love you, and that is why we're here."

Hermione shrugged with her good shoulder and replied, "I don't believe you."

The silence was a heavy cloud over them.

"I think you're here because you'd feel like a shit mum if you weren't."

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.