Author's Note: I have to straighten out a few mistakes I made in the last chapter. I've already written this in my reply to a review from Darkened Skies, but I'll post it here too, so no one gets confused. These are the basics: the Final Battle took place on June 1998, and roughly a month afterwards, Ron was attacked and fell into a coma. Hermione began her studies that year, but remained in the country because of Ron's condition. Her romance with Harry developed during that time, until Ron woke up around July 1999. That's when Harry and Hermione both left--she to study abroad and he to begin his Auror training. A year passed in that fashion, with all of them corresponding by letters, and then Hermione took up the Transfiguration post at Hogwarts in September 2000. Presently, it's August 2002, with Harry months away from concluding his training; he and Hermione haven't seen each other for roughly three years, except on a few key Order meetings he attended.
Hermione and Ron were together before he fell into a coma, and after he woke up, they took a long break from their relationship. They got back together as the year 2001 began.
I'm deeply sorry for the mistakes in the last chapter. Evidently, I missed them while I was editing. Does anyone know if I can re-upload that chapter without losing the reviews? It's been a long time since I've used Portkey and I'm just not sure. =S
Anyway, here's chapter two.
***
Chapter Two: Repetition
Hermione moved from her desk towards the window. Absentmindedly, she watched the trees as they swayed quietly with the wind, her eyes following the leaves' lazy movement. Her gaze wandered to the dark depths of the lake, where the water seemed unperturbed by the soft breeze. Not a single wave in its smooth crystalline surface…not a flicker of life. It took a few minutes for her to notice she wasn't blinking as she watched her silent companion-those quiet waters who refused to acknowledge the wind, who tried to go about their business without thinking about it.
A lone ripple broke the surface. The breeze became somewhat stronger, and it was impossible for the lake to ignore it any longer. It kept pressing down on her, until the surface was a tangle of waves crashing and forming, colliding with the earth as water escaped its confines.
Because some things just can't be ignored, right?
Hermione liked the comfort that going to Diagon Alley with Harry and Ron brought her. For the most part, neither of them had changed much in the last few years. Ron and Harry were still fascinated by Quidditch; they still ate a lot; and they were still able to laugh and joke around as if no time had passed. She looked at them, and rather than seeing them as they were now, she saw them as they had been back at Hogwarts. So it was nice, spending the day with them.
But as always, her peace was somewhat interrupted by outside forces. By the uncontrollable…
Whenever she caught Harry's eye; whenever they accidentally brushed hands or bumped shoulders, that happiness seemed to fade back into her worries and regrets. Seeing him was a dull reminder of what she hated most about herself, and of the fact that she couldn't do anything about it now.
She knew she didn't love Harry anymore. She was perfectly content and happy with Ron and their relationship. They supported each other-even if they didn't quite agree-and had learned to compromise. They didn't argue as much anymore, because they had learned to cut back on the retorts and petty insults, and think before they spoke. Ron, in particular, had changed a great deal.
She had loved Harry once, though, and she could recall it perfectly-better than she wished she did. She remembered falling for him desperately, blindly, and yearning for him so much it hurt. It had been completely unsettling for her-literally everything about him fascinated her. It was his way of making her feel as if everything really was going to turn out fine, even when the world was falling to pieces around them. It was they way he made her laugh even when she'd thought she never would again…the way he listened and simply accepted her and her ideas, and didn't criticize her…
--
"I think these are nice."
She was holding a bouquet of elegant white roses in her hands. She gazed at them gleefully, looking very much like a little girl, and glanced up at him, waiting for approval. Her eyes shone with an inexplicable joy as they locked on his, and he was blown away. To him, she was always beautiful, but there was something about her holding those flowers that made her appear almost…angel-like.
Harry nodded, "They are," he said softly, smiling.
She inclined her head forward slightly, the tip of her nose almost touching the petals as she tried to catch their scent. Her eyes flickered to a close for a moment, before she opened them again and looked back at Harry, "I think…I'll take these home. They'll brighten up the room, don't you think?"
Harry nodded, "Are we going to stop by the Weasley's?" he asked.
"Mmm…yes, I think we should. Molly asked me to keep her up-to-date with…Ron."
It happened so quickly. She herself felt her happiness being taken away by that single word and the memories it effected. Her eyes drifted downwards, back to the flowers, and she suddenly felt rather sick. How could she be here so happy, when Ron was lying on a bed, on a coma? How could she be here with Harry, of all people, when the person she should be with was so very far away?
Looking up at Harry, she sighed, giving him a sad smile, "It's nothing; don't worry. Just…the usual," she said, her voice quiet. More to distract herself than anything else, she turned away from him and began scanning the bouquets for one Mrs. Weasley might like.
"It matters to me," he said softly, his hand on her shoulder, "I don't like this, Hermione. I hate seeing you so broken up…I just wish-I wish I could help you somehow…"
Hermione closed her eyes, taking in a breath, as if bracing herself for something. The heat of his hand on her shoulder was clouding her thoughts…she suddenly felt a very strong impulse to turn around and tell him exactly what was making her feel so broken up and troubled. It was a combination of so many things-so many thought and feelings she wished she could ignore-and the pressure seemed to suffocate her. She couldn't think; she couldn't breathe freely anymore…
She let her gaze linger on his hand for a moment, before she said, "I know you do. And you don't know how much that means to me," her voice cracked a little as she paused, taking in a deep breath, "B-but you can't, Harry. You've already helped me a lot, believe me. I would be…so lost…without you right now…"
She turned around, not looking up at him, and buried her face in his chest. She wasn't crying, but she wasn't exactly very far from it. By avoiding looking at him, however, she gained more time to compose herself.
But he captured her chin with the tips of his fingers, gently forcing her to look up at him. Her face slightly pink from tension, Hermione locked her eyes on his…and it felt as if they were suddenly slipping away to another place. It felt as if all thoughts vanished from her mind and she was speeding away, into a world where she had no worries and preoccupations, nothing to think about. It was a sort of blissful happiness, where she finally felt at peace…for just a moment…
"I'll find a way, Hermione. I'll find a way to get you and-and Ron, and everyone-out of this mess. I will."
And she was so captivated by his solemn tone and worried eyes…she was so captivated by the thought that he would always risk and do anything to help others when they needed it. By the thought that he wanted to help her.
That he cared…
Leaning forward, she let her head fall back on his chest and wrapped his arms around him in a hug.
--
That had been so long ago-it seemed silly that it bothered her. People fell in and out of love many times in their lives, after all. Did it really matter that she had fallen for her best friend? Or was the problem something else? It seemed uncomfortable, somehow, to include him in her life right now, after the fervent promises they had made each other and the fierce emotions they had experienced together. She just couldn't shake it off-looking at him, everything seemed so much stronger; her memories seemed so much more real. Like she had managed to convince herself that her past with him had only been a dream, but he came and proved it otherwise.
It was the way he looked at her still. She had never forgotten the way he had gazed at her when they were in love. How could she forget such emotion, such devotion and selflessness? Right now, it was as if no time had passed…when his eyes came to rest on her, it was always that same look. Like he had never really forgotten her; let his feelings for her wane and die with time. Like they were still there…
And that scared her more than anything.
A voice, groggy and sleepy, spoke behind her, "Herm…" there was a huge yawn, "…iome? What're you doing up so late?"
She turned, her eyes taking in Ron's tall, lanky figure leaning against the doorframe. He was still wearing his Quidditch robes, which were covered in mud and dripping of water. She pursed her lips at this, watching the drops as they fell on the carpet, "I had some work to do," she explained, sighing and smiling at him, "How was practice?"
"Good…I'm beat, though…"
Looking into Ron's tired, foggy eyes, she was unable to explain to herself why they were together; how this had happened. It had been so different with Harry; so much more passionate, honest and true. There hadn't been any doubt that she should be together-it had been obvious, as comfortable and right as it came. And even though it wasn't like that with Ron, she couldn't say she didn't feel anything for him. She cared about him, wanted him to be happy. But somehow, as she glanced through the window at the dark lake behind her and back into his hazy eyes, she couldn't say that she loved him. It felt like a horrible, disgusting lie that, upon uttering, would leave a bitter aftertaste in her mouth. And Harry's face flashed before her, that look etched on his face…
She forced a smile, "Do you want something to eat or are you going to bed?"
"Mmm, some food would be great," Ron mumbled, grinning, "Please," he added, thinking Hermione's tortured look was due to his request rather than her thoughts.
Hermione pulled her hand out of her pocket and gave it a wave, pointing it to the bathroom. A small vial of green liquid came floating through thin air towards Ron, who eyed it warily, "What's it this time?" he asked, taking the vial in his hand and looking at her suspiciously.
"A modified form of the Pepperup Potion. Designed to wake and energize you rather than cure a cold," she paused, eyeing the vial proudly, "It's like coffee, so don't drink much. A drop will do-it's just to wake you up a bit while I make you some food."
Ron looked at her dubiously, before uncorking the vial. Sniffing it, he shook his head and muttered in an undertone, "It better not make tentacles sprout out of my ears this time…"
Hermione narrowed her eyes, "That was only once-and in case you don't quite remember, I managed to correct it in a heartbeat," she added, shrugging.
"Still. The fact that it happened was quite enough."
"I've checked it this time, Ron. Tried it on myself," Hermione insisted, gesturing to herself, "And here I am, ears and all."
"I don't like it when you try things on yourself," Ron frowned, his voice taking on a worried tone, "You could get hurt, doing that stuff while no one's around to help."
Hermione's smile was genuine now, but she remained silent as she walked past him and went into the kitchen. Ron sighed and raised the vial, a single drop falling into his open mouth. At first, nothing happened. He blinked, smiling, "It actually kind of tastes like coffee," he called to her, and she said something from the kitchen. But just when he opened his mouth to speak again, his stomach seemed to give a jerk. He frowned, suddenly feeling very weak. His legs bent and he fell on his knees to the floor, grimacing. His stomach jerked again, and he closed his eyes as pain shot through his body. He cried out, despite himself, and Hermione's swift footsteps accompanied her worried voice.
"Ron, are you-oh, Ron! What-?"
Her voice was so anxious…so deeply troubled…and he felt, as if in a dream, like he was being torn apart both by her voice and the pain. His eyelids were flickering open and closed, and he was seeing…things. Memories that he didn't even know he had, as if they belonged to someone else. He could hear ear-shattering, terrorized screams and cries of pain, and in his own agony, he was unable to distinguish his cries from the ones he heard…
And out of nowhere, he felt as if his whole body was on fire. It was pain like he had experienced only once before, clouding his thoughts and vision until he could only see darkness.
***
"And you're acquainted with Mr. Weasley how?"
Hermione held back her initial impulse to roll her eyes, "I'm his…we're…romantically involved. My name is Hermione Granger, you see, and-"
The mediwitch held a hand to silence her, nodding, "Oh, yes of course, Miss Granger. Pardon me. Come right along-the Healer would like word with you…" she began walking at a fast pace, going up a flight of stairs and taking a sharp left, "…terrible accident. He drank a potion, you said? Awful business indeed…"
"B-but is he going to be okay?"
"Well, I don't-ah, here we are. Right through this door, Miss Granger. Good day to you," and, without even bothering to answer Hermione's question, she rushed off in the direction they'd come.
Hermione stood there for a few minutes, trying to compose herself, before walking into the room.
Her first impression was that it really needed decoration of some sort. Or color, for that matter. Everything-every tiny little inch of the room-was a bare, extremely bright shade of white. From the walls to the furnishings, there wasn't a single thing that was the least bit gray. It was extremely small, consisting only of a very comfortable-looking white couch, which sat across from a small desk and a chair. There was a nameplate on the desk, but, being white as well, it could barely be read. Just looking around made Hermione's eyes hurt.
There was a sudden crash nearby, followed by a small squeal of pain. Hermione jumped as a door opened from behind the desk, revealing a very narrow, long passage of filing cabinets and other things of the sort. Someone had apparently made one of the cabinets fall down, as there were papers flying everywhere and a large cloud of dust was escaping into the immaculate white room. Sure enough, after a few seconds, the unmistakable outline of a person began crawling out of the rubble, coughing and sputtering muffled curses. When the shock seemed to lessen, Hermione pulled out her wand and made her way inside the passageway. Muttering something and waving her wand, the papers all flew to the cabinet, which straightened itself and went back to its position.
"Are y-you okay?" she called out, coughing slightly.
"Thanks," said the person, taking Hermione's hand as she held it out and coming to his feet. The young man frowned as he looked at her, squinting, as if he wasn't sure of what he was seeing. His hand reached up to brush dust off his face, and he continued to squint at her.
Slightly confused by the boy's behavior, Hermione asked, "Are you the Healer?"
"N-no, I just-" the boy paused in mid-sentence, his face suddenly breaking into a large smile as he said, in an excited tone, "No way-Hermione? What-it's me, Neville! How-how are you?"
"Neville?" Hermione repeated, looking at him incredulously. Maybe it was the dust, but Neville looked nothing like she remembered. He had less hair for one, and he was much taller. But there was no mistaking that it was him; he still bore that happy, plump face that had always distinguished him. She smiled, coming to hug him, "What are you doing here? It's been ages!"
"My uncle works here-got me a summer job," he explained, pulling way and grinning, "Mostly filing papers and rubbish like that."
"That's-great," Hermione said, after a moment's hesitation, "You've been studying Herbology, though, right?"
"Yeah. Term starts on September the third. After this year I'll be able to get a decent job," he paused, gesturing that they go outside into the room, "And what about you? You've been in the papers a lot recently."
Hermione laughed, "Don't believe anything. They're actually speculating about the name of my tenth child with Ron. Popular choice says 'Bilius' is it," she rolled her eyes at this, remembering the article Rita Skeeter had published only last week.
Neville laughed, "I thought so. You two aren't married yet?"
"…No."
He nodded, "And Harry? I hear he's been abroad. How's he doing?"
Hermione's expression darkened momentarily at the mention of Harry's name, before she shrugged and said, "He's good, too. Going to teach at Hogwarts this year."
"He is? Blimey, that's great! Looks like you three are set," Neville smiled, "You deserve it, too, after everything. I wish you all the best."
"Thanks, Neville."
"So what are you doing here?" he asked suddenly, frowning, "It's two in the morning!"
"I…well, Ron had a little…accident with a potion I brewed. He, err…well, it didn't go very well," Hermione mumbled, the sudden happiness she'd felt at seeing Neville again suddenly gone. In theory, the potion was supposed to work-all the ingredients mixed well together, and nothing happened when she'd tried it on herself. She didn't understand what had gone wrong…maybe he shouldn't take it on an empty stomach?
Neville opened his mouth to speak, but the door to the office opened. A short, corpulent man with thinning gray hair and small brown eyes walked into the room, looking flustered and rather tired. He was carrying several papers and vials of potions, along with his wand, which was tucked under his arm. When he noticed them, he gave a little jump, before turning his eyes on Neville.
"You're Longbottom, right? Fourth floor needs those papers right away. Hurry along, now," he said, waving him towards the door. Neville mumbled an apology and hurried off, waving a hand at Hermione over his shoulder as if to say goodbye.
The man gestured at the couch, motioning for Hermione to sit down, "Excuse me for the delay, madam. I am Healer Stratovac."
Hermione had barely sat down, before the man began speaking again, "I won't beat around the bush with this, Miss Granger-Mr. Weasley is not well. The potion you administered appears to have affected his nervous system, and for the moment, we have not yet found a way to return him to normal state. For now, he is being given periodic does of the Calming Draught to ease the…illusion of pain. He is under the belief that he is under the Cruciatus curse, you see. This is especially dangerous, because such trauma could affect him…permanently. You do know who Frank and Alice Longbottom are?"
Hermione nodded silently.
"Well, something along those lines could happen to Mr. Weasley if we don't find a cure for him soon."
Hermione shook her head, saying, in a very quiet voice, "I-I don't understand, Mr. Stratovac. I tried the potion on myself before giving it to him. I checked that every ingredient worked together and wouldn't result in poisoning. I just…I don't understand why this happened."
"There are two possible explanations to this. One, you made a mistake despite all your preparations. And two, there is something else in Mr. Weasley's body that affected him. I understand he was recently in a coma?"
"Y-yes."
"And that was due to a very obscure curse, was it not? A curse that had been unheard of until that time, which goes to suggest that it was created by a Death Eater."
"Yes, and it was. I was there when it happened," Hermione said, a little forcefully.
"Then you must understand that its long-term effects are yet unknown. It could go on to ail him for the rest of his life for no possible reason, because it has some sort of lasting effect that can't be taken away by magic or potions."
"Then you have to-I don't know, fix that! Run some tests, check his body for-"
"We have checked. We have conducted every test imaginable, and there is nothing to suggest that the spell left anything behind. Everything in his body appears normal. For now, the theory that the curse may have had long-term effects is just that-a theory."
"Then what are you going to do? You're just going to leave him there to-go mad?"
"We are in the process of making an antidote to help him, and I assure you, my team of Healers is working extremely hard," the healer paused, watching her thoughtfully. Then, heaving a large sigh, le leaned forward on his desk and said, "Miss Granger, at this point of the game, it is impossible to say whether or not he is in mortal danger. Anything could happen. The most I can say is that he is suffering from a sort of mental trauma very similar to that experienced under the Cruciatus curse, and that he is being treated for it."
Hermione sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. She felt as if she was drowning in her own guilt now. If only she hadn't convinced him to try the potion…if only she hadn't been so stubborn and hadn't talked him into it…
If only she hadn't…he wouldn't be in this position now.
Biting her lip, she looked up at the healer, who was watching her with a slightly pitiful expression. Clearing her throat, she asked, "When…do you have any idea of when he might be well again?" her voice was so quiet, so painfully tentative, that hearing it made her feel even worse than she already did.
"No, Miss Granger. Not at the moment."
She nodded numbly, closing her eyes again. It was as if all of the most horrible moments in her life were closing in on her now, erasing any remnant of happiness she may have possessed. She felt as if she was falling down an abysm of sorrow and despair, and no one…no one could help her…
She was falling…
--
"What did you do to him?" hissed Harry, his face contorted in such righteous anger that she never even knew existed. His eyes were narrowed, cold and ruthless, and his lips were but a straight line on his face. She could count the times when Harry had frightened her so with one hand, but she couldn't deny that they were moments that would stay in her memory forever.
The Death Eater, who was bound tightly by ropes, sneered, "What he deserved and only that," he spat, his eyes gleaming with pleasure at Harry's anger.
"I swear to God if he's-if you-I'll kill you like I killed him," Harry finished viciously, fingering his wand menacingly. The Death Eater's eyes widened for a moment, before he burst out in maniacal laughter, spitting out words here and there, as if he knew that would drive Harry mad. Hermione, watching as Harry's frame grew tenser and his grip on his wand became stronger, grabbed his shoulder and held him back.
"No-Harry, come on. He's not worth it," she said desperately, trying to speak as quickly as possible, "R-Ron's hurt…we need to take him-somewhere…please…
"Please, Harry…"
And in an instant, Harry lowered his wand, though grudgingly. His eyes were locked on the man's, hatred evident, and Hermione knew that he had been prepared to kill the Death Eater. He muttered something, and the man was left unconscious, though alive.
"Stunned," he grunted, before kneeling and taking Ron's body in his arms. He beckoned Hermione towards him, and she kneeled beside them, barely managing an expression of braveness. She knew that what he needed right now weren't tears; he needed support and courage, and she was prepared to give that to him, no matter what.
Wordlessly, he took his arm and closed his eyes. She did the same, and before long, the familiar feeling of Apparition took over her.
--
Oh, God, she couldn't help it. The memories went and came, flashing before her eyes in a blur of colors and emotions, before they stopped, and she saw the scene unfolding before her very eyes. And she felt everything as if she were there at that moment; the sadness, excitement and fear of it all, just coming back to her…
--
The night was only slightly chilly, but she pretended to shiver anyway, just so he would drape his hand over her shoulders and beckon her closer to him. They sat outside on the porch, watching as the rain fell only a few feet from them and unmade the small mountain of leaves that was leaning against the steps. And she leant her head on his shoulder, her vision hazy, smiling.
"Harry?" she asked, her voice soft as a whisper.
He seemed to turn his head to look at her before he answered, "Yeah?"
She licked her lips, propping her chin on the side of his shoulder to look up at him, "Is this what you want?" she asked as she took in his profile. It was strange; over the years he had managed to redefine almost every aspect of her thoughts. When someone spoke of bravery, she thought of Harry. When someone mentioned friendship, she thought of him. And when someone slipped in the word 'love' into a conversation, her mind immediately supplied a picture of Harry, and she was taken to another world.
It was inevitable. He'd left his mark on her life, and with each passing day, it seemed less prone to being erased.
He frowned, "What do you mean?"
She sighed, thinking of how she could word what she wanted to ask, "I mean…why are you here? Almost a year has gone by since Ron…you know…and you still come here every day to take care of me. I know you care about me-and it really means a lot that you do-but you must have other…goals; things you want to do in life…"
He didn't answer. She closed her eyes, knowing she'd said the wrong thing and hating herself for it. But she had to ask him. It had been eating her from the inside out to wonder why he always came and held her when she cried, why he always took her out to places and made her smile and laugh like she had never laughed before. Her rationality said that it was because she was his friend; because he cared for her well being and didn't know if she could go on by herself at this point. And such an explanation seemed perfectly logical and true, and she didn't question it for a while.
But then one night another thought had crept into her mind…an aching, desperate hope that maybe it was because he loved her and didn't want to leave her now. That he had grown accustomed to her company and couldn't bear to be without her…
"This past few months," he said suddenly, and she immediately noted how he seemed to weigh each word he spoke, ", have been…odd. On one hand, I'm here because we're facing a horrible time. Ron's in the hospital, and he shows no signs of recovering soon. I see you suffer and cry for him all the time, and that's no easy task. If I based my opinion of these months on that, I'd say they've been the worst sort of torture imaginable, not because I don't like being around you, but because I hate seeing you suffer.
"But then I think of the times when we're having lunch or dinner, and your cheeks are pink because you've been laughing so much…and my stomach hurts because I've laughed more than I ever thought I would…and my opinion changes drastically. I think of you, as we're sitting under one of the trees in the park, and I can't…bring myself to say that I haven't enjoyed these past few months."
There was a pause, then, "Sure, I have other things I'd like to do. But none of them are nearly as important as you are, Hermione. None of them could ever be considered better than being with you."
And as he turned his head to look at her, for while he had been speaking his gaze had been on the falling rain, she felt as if he were coming closer. She could still hear his words clearly, and they had touched her so deeply that tears actually welled in her eyes. She was so happy, and for a moment, she didn't give a damn if he loved her or not, as long as he stayed with her, sweet and caring as always…
--
"Now, then…Miss Granger," said the Healer, giving her a slightly worried look, "Will you be alright? I have some other patients to check…papers to sign…you know the drill. It's late. Will you be able to get home safely?"
Hermione looked up into the man's dark eyes, which were narrowed in slight confusion and concern as he watched her, and sighed heavily, "I'm sorry, Mr. Stratovac…but I would feel better if I were to stay here tonight, with Ron."
"I understand your wishes, but with the state he's in…I'm afraid that won't be possible."
She closed her eyes momentarily, before opening them again and giving him a wary look, "Yes, you're right. Thank you very much for taking care of Ron. You don't know how much it…really means to me."
For the first time since he had entered the room, the Healer smiled, "Not a problem, Miss Granger. Not at all," he stood up, leading her to the door, "Good night, and best wishes to you and Mr. Weasley."
"Thanks very much."
The healer opened the door and stepped aside to let her pass. He walked through a door to his left, while Hermione kept walking right on along the hall. There seemed to be a lot of activity despite the early hour-two healers wearing white masks brushed past her in a haste, heading to Mr. Stratovac's office, and as she stepped out into the hall, Healers were rushing up and down the corridors, shoving papers to each other as they passed, shouting last-minute instructions, and guiding patients to their rooms.
The place was so full of life and emotion…she could practically feel their anxiety as they exchanged hurried ideas on what potion would work best on a patient; feel their pain as they whispered, in hushed voices, that a person was not well…and it all led back to the same place, to the person that was lying on a hospital bed at that moment because she had accidentally poisoned him. Sure, it might have been because of the curse, but really, had she not given him the potion, this wouldn't have happened at all. Despite what anyone said, this was her fault.
And now what was she going to do? She couldn't fathom going back to their flat and just falling peacefully asleep. She didn't have anyone to talk to, really; it was too early to worry anyone with this and she honestly couldn't imagine someone that would really understand what she was going through. They would all say it wasn't her fault, that she couldn't have known…and they wouldn't really believe it. Molly would say it, and almost believe it-but a part of her would still feel slightly angry towards her. And who else was there to turn to, anyway?
Harry?
No. She was not going to call Harry. They were on shaky grounds as it was; she couldn't just call him for moral support. It had been different, speaking through letters when they'd both been abroad. In letters, she had time to think of what she wanted to say exactly, and how to say it. They hadn't been face-to-face in a very long time, and seeing each other today had thrown them both out of balance.
Waking her from her thoughts, another Healer pushed past her roughly, carrying a stack of papers. She huffed, glaring at him, and he turned his head slightly to look at her. He was wearing a mask that covered all of his face except his eyes, but she felt as if she had seen him before. His eyes stared a vague memory…those dark eyes, full of contempt…she had seen those before…
But then he was gone. In a blur of white robes, he had turned the corner and was headed towards the next floor down.
She rolled her eyes, cursing under her breath, and decided to get something to drink; she was most certainly not going to leave. Turning, she headed towards the stairs to the upper floors, when a voice yelled behind her…
"Somebody-Healers-I need Healers-Mr. Stratovac's been attacked!"
The voice was slightly high-pitched and full of fear, and as Hermione turned to look at the woman waving madly at some Healers, she only had to remember those piercing dark eyes again, and she knew who it had been. She knew what was happening.
Death Eaters had broken into St. Mungo's.