Darkness.
She was standing in the middle of a misty moore. Thick fog around her feet blurred the shapes of the world. "Hermione…" She turned at the sound of her name. Harry stood beside her. His face was pale and hollow and his dark-green eyes pierced her through the haze.
"Come back" she whispered. Her words felt heavy, as though speaking felt like an enormous effort. "Come back, please."
He gave her a sad smile.
"I can't."
"You don't want to."
"I don't want to"
Hermione reached her hands out toward him, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't touch him. Her lips moved, but no words came out.
"We need you," she finally managed to rasp.
He smiled again, briefly.
"You only think you do" he replied, and the air seemed to rush out of her lungs.
Suddenly Hermione woke up, gasping for breath. The bedroom was steeped in the gray stillness of an early autumn dawn. Ron rolled onto his other side. She stared at him for a moment, trying to ground herself, to discern which reality was the true one. In the bathroom, she turned on the tap, letting cold water flow over her hands. She splashed her face and gazed into the mirror. She could see the beginnings of lines around her eyes—those tiny creases that appeared just before thirty—the evidence of too many late shifts at St. Mungo's. She washed her face again and dried it with a coarse towel before returning to bed.
As she lay down, Ron opened his eyes.
"What's wrong?" he asked groggily.
Instead of answering, she leaned over and kissed him. He murmured contentedly and drifted back to sleep.
"Weasley, you look like you didn't sleep. Again." Matthew said as he passed her in the hallway, handing her a stack of patient charts.
"Madliner, you look like you've been sleeping too much" she replied with a smile.
"Didn't you have the night shift?"
"Yep, but I can still grab a coffee with you…"
"You don't have too many patients today" Matthew said, handing her a coffee cup. "That Auror with the broken arm is getting discharged. Same with the kid in Room Seven—Theodore. John needs to stay a few more days, though. Apparently, the Head of the Auror Office is supposed to visit today."
Hermione nodded and sank onto the couch in the medical office.
"And… my patient… Black?"
"Minimal brain activity. But maybe that's for the best—his body needs time to recover. I checked on him a few times during the night."
"Thanks," she said with a faint smile.
"It's been four days now. Something should start to happen soon."
"He'll pull through" Matthew said, removing his white coat and hanging it on the rack. "Keep your chin up, Weasley. Patience—"
"And humility," she added. "I know. You're right."
Hermione peeked into the Harry's room. She stood by his bedside for a while, scanning his face and body for any sign of change.
Harry had never appeared in her dreams before. She didn't place much stock in dreams, anyway, but the image from the night before had been so vivid, so real, that she couldn't shake it from her mind.
"Hermione?" Marcus Hall, the Head of St. Mungo's Emergency Ward, intercepted her by the reception desk. "Can I have a moment?"
Hermione nodded and followed him.
"I know you and Madliner admitted those Aurors the other night."
"That's right," she said.
"Shacklebolt, the Head of the Auror Office, is in my office. Madliner's shift is over, so could you talk to him? Just to… brief him and put at ease?"
"Only… I don't have good news for him." Hermione replied.
Hall placed his hand on the doorknob.
"I figured that" he sighed.
"Mr. Shacklebolt, this is one of our healers, Hermione Weasley. She was on duty that night…"
"Hermione" Kingsley greeted her warmly "I forgot you worked here."
She sensed the lie in his tone. They shook hands.
"We know each other… from years back" Hermione explained quickly.
"We lost many mutual friends during the second war," Kingsley said with heavy voice.
Hall sat behind his desk and gestured for Hermione to take the seat opposite him.
"Hermione oversees some of the auror cases—"
"Yes" Hermione interrupted, locking eyes with Kingsley. "But I don't have good news."
"I've read the reports," Kingsley replied, meeting her gaze. "The families have been notified…"
"The bigger issue is..." Hermione said quickly "is that the spells they were hit with, are entirely unfamiliar. We've started standard protocols, but nothing has been effective."
"We've suspected for some time that our enemies are using unknown magic," Kingsley said.
"I can assure you, that the aurors are receiving the best care" Hall interjected "We'll keep you updated."
"There are currently four aurors on the ward" Hermione continued. "Two of them will be discharged soon, and their conditions are improving hour by hour. I think you should visit them, despite everything."
Kingsley nodded, standing up.
"Would you show me their rooms?" he asked Hermione.
"I'm not sure now is the best time for visits" Hall began, but Hermione spoke over him.
"One of the aurors is still unconscious" she said, remaining seated. "An auror from the group provided his details, but I think his family should be notified to complete his file. His condition is critical."
"What's his name?"
"Sirius Black. That's all we know."
Kingsley's eyes met hers, and she saw the flicker of recognition. He knew.
"Mr. Hall" Kingsley addressed the ward director, "I'd like to see my aurors"
Hall sighed and stood as well.
"Of course. This way."
Left alone in the hallway, Hermione tried to think of a way to distract Kingsley, but she couldn't think of anything that wouldn't draw too much attention. From behind a partially closed door, she heard Kingsley speaking with Stevens—the young man who had lost a leg in the fight. She could still see his bloodied face from the night he was brought in.
"I'll show you to Sirius Black's room" she said as soon as Kingsley emerged.
"I don't want to —" Kingsley began, glancing around the hallway.
"He's unconscious, and his condition is critical…"
"Hermione," Kingsley interrupted her calmly. "We both know your patient's real name. I'm very sorry he was hurt—"
"You're joking!" she snapped, her voice loud enough to make the nurses at reception glance in their direction.
"I'm very sorry he was hurt" Kingsley repeated firmly, emphasizing each word. "And while I know you are an excellent healer, but you should consider handing off his case to someone else."
Hermione scoffed in disbelief.
"Excuse me, but you must be joking."
Kingsley slid his hands into the pockets of his robes.
"I trust you'll keep me updated on the patients' conditions" he said, stepping back.
"Wait" she said quietly. "Can we at least talk for a moment?"
"I can't tell you much."
"You knew Harry had… changed his identity? I came to you… I asked—"
Kingsley sighed.
"Yes, I've known. He's my employee."
"And you did nothing?"
"Sirius Black is one of my aurors," Kingsley replied evenly "And I'd like him to stay that way. Now, if you'll excuse me, duty calls."
He turned to leave.
"And what if I tell the truth?" she snapped.
Kingsley stopped and looked back at her.
"The truth? For now, just do everything you can to wake him up."
It was just before midnight when Hermione returned home. Ron was sitting in the living room, sorting through papers and tallying shop invoices. She watched his hunched silhouette and the firelight casting shadows on his face, as he scribbled numbers into neat columns. Ron looked up, sensing her gaze.
"What?" he asked with a smile.
She shook her head, trying to smile back.
"You're staring at me" he murmured before returning to his numbers. "I've got to place an order tomorrow…"
Hermione approached him quietly and pulled the papers from his hands. She leaned down and kissed him.
"What's going on?" he asked, brushing her hair back from her face.
She kissed him again.
"It's been a while since we've seen each other" she whispered. "A long while."
"You've been working a lot."
She nodded.
"You know how it is…"
"How are the aurors? Ginny said—"
Hermione kissed him again, this time letting her hands trail to his belt.
"Ginny's in her room" Ron said quickly, grabbing her wrists. "James is asleep."
She stood up and looked at him for a moment, but he avoided her gaze, turning back to his papers.
She sighed softly and left the room without another word.
James was screaming at the top of his lungs when Hermione entered the kitchen. He was sitting in his high chair, banging a metal spoon on the tray in front of him. Ginny was bustling around the cabinets, looking as if she'd been through a battle.
"Just ignore him; it's toddler terrorism" Ginny shouted over James's cries.
"What's wrong?" Hermione leaned toward the boy.
James abruptly stopped screaming when her face came close. He reached out his little hands toward her, clearly hoping she would rescue him from the confines of the high chair.
"Molly will be here in half an hour" Ginny exhaled, noticing the baby food stains on her otherwise elegant blouse—a casualty of James's latest tantrum. "Damn it, I need to change."
She left the room, muttering under her breath. James stretched his hands toward Hermione again. Hermione glanced after Ginny and then gave up, picking him up.
"Miona!" James beamed at her.
"Let's have some coffee" Hermione said, speaking to him as if he were an equal.
With James perched on her hip, she opened a cupboard and reached for a mug.
"Am I invited too?" Ron startled her by wrapping his arms around her from behind.
He kissed her cheek and ruffled James's messy black hair. The toddler now reached out for his uncle.
"And this is how you spoil him" Ginny declared, sweeping back into the kitchen wearing a fresh blouse.
Ron was tossing James playfully into the air, and the boy giggled with delight.
"Whatever he wants, he gets," Ginny added with a note of judgment.
"Expert on parenting, are we?" Ron muttered as he placed James back in the high chair. The boy immediately protested loudly.
"More of an expert than you" Ginny shot back, her tone sharp. James screamed louder. Ginny glared at him, picked him up, and stormed out of the kitchen, his cries fading with each step she took.
Ron turned to Hermione, who stood silently by the counter.
"Don't look at me like that" he snapped.
She raised her hands in a gesture of surrender. Ron turned back to the counter, aggressively slapping together a sandwich.
Hermione didn't know what to say. Lately, these small tensions had become more frequent, and the unspoken topic of their own children returned with cruel regularity. When they had first moved in together, Ron had told her he couldn't imagine life without a big family. She had nodded back then, agreeing without fully understanding what "a big family" might mean to him. Now, with Ginny and James occupying the spare room, Hermione often felt more like a housemate than the mistress of her own home. Once, she had cautiously suggested that maybe it was time for Ginny to find her own place. The conversation had ended in a bitter argument, but the subject still lingered between them. For months now, they had all felt stifled by the strange arrangement.
"I have a night shift today," Hermione finally said softly.
Ron shrugged. "You've been taking a lot of shifts"
Hermione clenched her jaw, resisting the urge to slam the cabinet door. She fixed him with a pointed stare, but Ron didn't bother to meet her eyes.
"Ron?" she tried again.
"What?" He shrugged again. "I'm just saying."
His expression reminded her of a sulking child, and she found she didn't have the energy for another argument.
"Molly will be here in half an hour" she muttered.
"Isn't it a bit early for a second shift?" Matthew greeted her in the healers' lounge. "It's only… one in the afternoon."
"I'm not here," Hermione replied, hanging her coat in the wardrobe and pulling on her white robes.
"Going for Employee of the Month, are we?"
She shot him a cold look.
"That's not funny," she said icily.
Matthew raised his hands in mock surrender, then leaned over the thick folder on his desk. Feeling a pang of guilt, Hermione dragged a chair to his desk and sat across from him.
"Want coffee?" she asked after a moment.
He gave her a patient look.
"What's wrong this time?"
"Life" she shrugged. "The incurable disease called adulthood."
"You know, you look like you've taken on too much" Matthew said, his tone serious.
She shrugged again.
"I mean it. Dead serious," he added.
"What's new on the ward?" she asked, changing the subject.
"No changes. But tonight, check on the two boys in Room Nine—Robert and Michael. They were admitted this morning. Five years old. Their mother is suspected of poisoning them; she's already been sent to the psychiatric ward. The boys should recover."
Hermione nodded.
"I'm not the best with children" she admitted.
Matthew smiled.
"You'll do great."
Hermione got up and wandered around the room. To hide her discomfort, she grabbed a random book from the shelf and opened it to a random page.
"And if I don't? Not everyone…"
A nurse appeared at the door, gesturing for Matthew.
"On my way" he said, leaving her alone.
"Excuse me, Dr. Weasley?"
Hermione looked up to see a tall blonde woman entering the room. She immediately recognized Jennifer, the Auror and former patient she had discharged two weeks ago.
"Jennifer" Hermione greeted her with a smile. "Have a seat. How's the arm?"
"It's fine," Jennifer replied, sitting across from Hermione. "They've even cleared me to return to work."
"That's great, isn't it?"
Jennifer nodded, but silence stretched between them.
"Would you like something to drink?" Hermione asked, breaking the awkward pause. She moved to the cabinet, where a steaming kettle hovered over a small flame.
"I wanted to ask about Sirius," Jennifer said.
Hermione turned to her, her expression cautious.
"There isn't much I can tell you."
"I know you have protocols, but—" Jennifer began, her tone pleading.
"It's not that," Hermione interrupted gently "There's simply not much to say. No change."
Jennifer sighed, her gaze steady.
"We need to figure out what spell it was. We need to understand what kind of magic they used on us."
"I understand" Hermione poured coffee and setting the mug in front of Jennifer. She circled the desk and sat down, crossing her legs. "We initially treated Harry with colloidal silver and passionflower extract" Hermione said after a moment.
"Harry?" Jennifer interjected.
"Sirius" Hermione corrected herself automatically. "Passionflower is usually fast-acting for detoxification, and silver should cleanse the wound of hex remnants. But this spell—it poisoned his blood, almost like a venom."
Jennifer pulled out a small notebook and jotted down a few notes.
"Some ancient spells and curses were designed to do just that—to destroy a person from the inside" Jennifer said thoughtfully.
"I thought the same" Hermione admitted. "So we began detox treatments immediately."
Jennifer scribbled more notes.
"Kingsley asked me to investigate the case. I'm being reassigned to London temporarily" she said.
"You're not happy about that?"
"Yesterday, another wizard was found dead on the outskirts of Edinburgh. Instead of blood, his veins were filled with black sludge. Will me being here solve that?"
Hermione had no answer.
"What are Sirius's chances?"
"Chances?"
"That he'll wake up."
"I don't know."
Later, Hermione found Jennifer standing by Harry's bedside, staring at his chart. She lingered by the door, watching the Auror's slumped figure. There was something familiar about Jennifer—something in her demeanor, in the weight she seemed to carry, that reminded Hermione of Harry himself.
Had they been close? Had he ever told her he was a father?
"Handsome and bloody brilliant" Jennifer had once said of him.
Had they been together?
"Nurse will kick you out after seven" Hermione finally said, her voice cutting through the stillness.
Jennifer flinched, startled.
"Right. Of course," she murmured, embarrassed.
Hermione felt an urge to stand by them, but she held back. She was a healer, and to her, Sirius Black was just another patient.
At one in the morning, Hermione visited Room Nine. The two boys, Robert and Michael, were sleeping on one bed, huddled together despite having their own. Their fear and loneliness had driven them to cling to each other. Their faces bore green rashes, and their small hands were covered in oozing blisters with a grayish-green crust. One of the boys stirred in his sleep, while the other opened his eyes. He froze when he saw Hermione.
She smiled gently. "Sleep. Everything's fine," she whispered, pulling a blanket over him.
The boy pulled the blanket up to his chin and shut his eyes. Hermione sat on the edge of the bed and watched them for a long moment.
If someone had asked her years ago what her adult life would look like, she would have said she'd have a home, a family, and a life filled with friends. She had always wanted children but doubted her ability to be a good mother.
Ron didn't understand that. For him, fatherhood seemed like an inevitable, natural thing. Harry never talked about it, but Hermione could sense he feared it as much as she did. He would always shrug off the topic, saying he didn't plan that far ahead. She remembered how he and Ginny had announced their pregnancy, looking overjoyed.
When James was born, Hermione had felt strangely out of place. It was as if the entire Weasley family turned to her expectantly, like she was next in line. It made her withdraw, taking on extra shifts at St. Mungo's rather than sitting down at Molly's table for birthday dinners or holiday gatherings.
"Life won't wait for you," her father had always told her when she brought home a bad grade. That phrase had a way of making her grit her teeth and push herself harder.
"Something's not right with the patient in Room Six. I know you've been handling his case."Hermione turned toward the door. Greta, one of the senior nurses, stood in the doorway with serious expression on her face.
"What's wrong?" Hermione asked quickly.
Greta gave her a meaningful look and gestured for her to follow.
"He doesn't want to come back" Greta said as Hermione stepped into the room.
The soft glow of a single lamp cast shadows across the walls, barely illuminating his pale face.
"We stopped the sleeping draught three days ago. His pupils are responding to light now, which means his brain is ready to wake up. And there's only thirteen percent of the curse's poison left in his bloodstream…" Greta explained.
"I know all of that" Hermione interrupted. "I was the one who decided to stop the draught. What are you getting at?"
"Well… he's here," Greta said with a sly smile.
"What?"
"Exactly," Greta said with a knowing smile. "I had to be sure, but now I know—he listens to you."
Hermione crossed her arms, standing stiffly a few steps from Harry's bed.
"What are you talking about?"
"He should have returned to his body by now, but he's undecided. I've seen him lingering, appearing during rounds, listening…"
"And?" Hermione pressed. "What can we do? It's his choice."
"You don't understand. He only appears when you're here. When I come to him alone, it's different. I don't know where he is then, but it's not here. Even earlier today, when that woman visited him—he wasn't here either."
Hermione froze.
Greta approached Harry's still form, taking his wrist to check his pulse.
"He's different" she muttered. "I don't mean to interfere, but I can tell you two know each other. It's obvious."
Hermione shook her head.
"Greta…"
"I've seen a lot" Greta interrupted. "Different cases, different patients. But our job is to save lives."
"I know, but what if someone has given up on life?" Hermione countered, locking eyes with the older woman.
Greta smiled faintly.
"Doctor Weasley, you're a healer, aren't you?"
Hermione nodded slowly.
"Then heal. He listens to you. Try."
Hermione hesitated, but then she reached out, taking Harry's hand in her own. As soon as their skin touched, it felt as though something pulled her into another dimension.
When she opened her eyes, she was still seated at his bedside.
"If anything happens, I'm right here," Greta's voice reassured her. Hermione closed her eyes again, letting the darkness engulf her.
Darkness enveloped her. She was standing on a misty moor. She stood in the middle of nowhere, just as in the dreams that had haunted her for weeks. Harry stood ahead of her, his back turned.
"Harry…" she whispered.
He turned. His face was gaunt and pale, his expression unreadable.
"Come back," Hermione said, her voice trembling.
He laughed—a bitter, hollow sound. Moving closer, he stopped mere inches from her.
"Come back," she repeated. "Please."
Harry shook his head, meeting her eyes. The intensity of his gaze made her feel as though something had exploded inside her mind.
Hermione's eyes snapped open, tears streaming down her face. Greta was crouched beside her, gripping her shoulders.
"Are you all right?" Greta asked.
Hermione nodded weakly.
"Patients are often like energy vampires," Greta explained calmly. "To heal, they need more energy, so they take it from the Healers. But he just gave you his instead. You were running on empty, and he gave what he had left."
"What?"
"I saw it," Greta said, her voice steady. "He just shortened his life by a day to give you strength."
"I didn't want that…" Hermione whispered.
"I know."
Greta gave her a look, then stood and stepped away from the bed.
"Greta?" Hermione called after her. "Explain this to me."
"I will" Greta said, turning back. "But first…"
Her gaze lingered on Harry's still, unconscious body.
"Talk to him. It's better if he wakes up someday."
Hermione shook her head.
"I can't. I'm sorry, but I just can't…"
Greta glanced at her watch.
"Tonight will be a quiet night," she said gently. "Talking will do you both some good."
With that, she left, softly shutting the door behind her.
Hermione dragged a chair closer to Harry's bed and sat down with a sigh. She studied his thin, lifeless hand resting on the sheets, but didn't touch it. Instead, she let her eyes wander around the room before settling back into the chair.
It was just past two in the morning.
"I don't know what to say to you," she heard herself whisper. "I really don't."
She adjusted the lamp so its light wouldn't fall so harshly on his face. She hadn't expected anything to happen.
"There are two boys in the next room" she began. "Five years old. They were poisoned with some strange potions their mother gave them."
Her voice grew sharper as anger built inside her.
"But I suppose you could be the president of The Worst Parents Club," she said louder. "And I'm glad you can't answer to me right now, because I think I'd hurt you…"
Hermione stopped abruptly.
"I want to be a mother" she admitted, her voice softer now. "But I'm terrified I'd be worse at it than you were."
She closed her eyes and found herself back on the moor.
"You wouldn't run away," she heard a voice behind her say.
She turned. Harry stood just behind her, smiling faintly. She even reached out to him.
"Harry…"
The clatter of a tray jolted her awake. A nurse was picking up a broken potion vial, her apologetic eyes meeting Hermione's. The light from the hallway momentarily blinded her.
"What time is it?" Hermione croaked, her voice rough.
"Twenty to six," the nurse mumbled.
Hermione turned to look at Harry. For a split second, she thought she saw him smile.