397All Hermione could think was 'Not Ron!' as she knelt down by the prone figure. It had been a ridiculous reaction, she realised afterwards. She didn't want it to be any of them, of course she didn't.
Her hands shook with exhaustion as she gripped her wand in both hands, although even lifting the slender wooden stick felt like a gargantuan effort. The tiny part of her brain that was always dedicated to solving academic problems told her that this was probably why more people didn't pass their magic to and fro between them like cards in a rapid game of snap. It would come back though, she told herself. Wouldn't it? It had to come back. But here, with gravel and dust from the dungeon they had just escaped digging into her knees and blood spilling out of someone's head, it wasn't coming back fast enough.
She could hear the others moving, getting up, groaning, patting themselves down, but she didn't dare take her eyes off the figure in front of her while she tried to work out what spell she would manage to do more good than harm with. The dark red was spreading now – a glass of merlot knocked over onto a snowy white tablecloth.
"Episkey", she murmured. She felt the effort burn in her veins. Where magic normally felt like sweet syrup or warmth flowing through her into the wand, this was rust, salt, acid. For a moment or two, the gash seemed to close up and a sliver of hope filled her. But then it split open again, a fresh gout of blood leaking out and glistening as it slid down over the man's (for she had at least recognised by now that it was a man, which purely by playing the odds game for likely candidates, wasn't helping her panic), temple and dripped into the dust. Something stronger needed, evidently. Where was her bag with the essence of dittany so conveniently stored in its capacious depths? Now a second figure overlaid the first in her mind's eye, blurring the two together, her vision swimming. More blood, more pain. That time an arm, this time perhaps something more deadly.
She gritted her teeth, bracing herself for another effort, a small growl of frustration escaping her lips as her wand slipped in her sweaty grasp. She felt a hand land on her shoulder, felt the warmth of the gentle touch through her tattered top. Even without looking behind her, she blew out a ragged breath that she didn't know she had been holding. Feeling the sparks of magic flow down her arm, steadying her hands, she tried again, placing the tip of her wand to the place the blood seemed to be flowing from.
For a moment, nothing happened. Not too late, surely? She leant forwards and started brushing the dust off his face, trying to get a better look at the wound. It seemed to have stopped bleeding but what if there was internal damage? She wasn't qualified to deal with that. Panic of a different kind – less sharp and primal but still overwhelming – began to wash over her. Temporarily forgetting any magical or medical knowledge she may have ever learned, she shook the prone figure lightly, calling his name
"Draco, wake up, come on!"
He coughed feebly, "Remind me never to get mixed up with you again Granger," silver grey eyes opened as Draco groaned.
Hermione sighed with relief, and a grin spread across her lips against her will. Now sure he was going to live, she leaned back against the hand supporting her, only to find it removed. Her head snapped up to see Ron watching her and Draco angrily. She tried to reach out to him but he turned his back on her, crouching to help Harry, who was wincing as he attempted to get into a sitting position, his face pale and sweaty. Both his legs were lying at unnatural angles.
"You're going to need that looked at," she muttered to Draco. She wasn't sure whether she should feel angry at him that he was going to abandon her and the girls in the chamber but deep down she knew that she shouldn't expect any more from him. Self preservation was as much a part of his makeup as a foolhardy tendency to jump into trouble was a part of Harry's, "I think we're going to need to get all of these girls to St Mungo's to be checked out, as well as Harry."
"We have a healer on hand at the Manor at all times for father, she's more than qualified to heal a simple head injury," he seemed reluctant to meet her eyes as he struggled unsteadily to his feet.
Hermione rolled her eyes in frustration but as there were others who needed her help more urgently, she didn't make any attempt to dissuade him.
They were in the field outside the Burrow's front garden. The sun was just starting to show its pink and golden visage on the horizon, the sky a washed out blue deepening to navy, still lightly dusted with stars in its darkest corners. Hermione could see Mr and Mrs Weasley hurrying out of the house towards them, Mrs Weasley barefoot, her hair up in curlers, Mr Weasley trying to tie his dressing gown as he ran in flapping slippers.
Harry seemed to have given up and was lying on his back, the dazed look in his eyes at odds with the tight set of his jaw. His fists were clenched with the effort of not crying out at the pain of his legs. Ron was speaking lowly by his ear, patting him on the arm by way of comfort. His eyes met Hermione's with a wordless question but she just shook her head. He was going to need Skelegrow at least. She saw Ron grimace, his hand straying unconsciously to his ribs, and realised that Harry might not be the only one.
The older Weasleys were upon them now, sad experience having taught them to give aid first and ask questions later, they were also bent over Harry, discussing how to help in urgent tones.
A hiccupping sob alerted her to the other girls. They had huddled together, seeming to want to shrink away from the situation that they had found themselves in. Cecilia was crying softly, her eyes hollow with horror and confusion. Olive had her hands over her mouth and seemed to be fighting nausea, her body convulsing as she retched. But they were all alive, all conscious, albeit looking groggy and pale. None of them seemed able to stand, but that might just be shock. They all looked horribly thin. They could have been sisters, their deeply shadowed eyes and sharp cheekbones giving them a resemblance that reflected their shared experience. Those things inside of them must have been starving them of nutrients, Hermione realised with revulsion. Their bodies had returned to their normal shapes, externally at least – the hideous bloating gone – but who knew what internal damage it had caused. Hermione was grateful that at least they hadn't had to see themselves like that.
"What's going on Hermione?" Amy demanded. She, at least, had a spark of anger in her eyes.
"There's been an accident…" Hermione trailed off, wondering how much they knew of what happened, dreading having to explain to them how deeply they had been violated. Her hand strayed to her stomach unbidden.
"Draco?" asked Astoria, her voice hoarse, looking to the only person she knew for answers. Her lip was trembling as though she might join Cecilia in tears.
Suddenly the air was full of the pops of apparition. The Weasleys had obviously called for help. Hermione saw Bill and George, two blurs of red hair, approaching them.
Draco looked helplessly from the girls, to Hermione. She recognised the look on his face from earlier, in the collapsing building. The look of a caged animal assessing its chances of escape. "Look, I – er," Draco hesitated, "I'm not sure it's going to do my reputation any good to be caught up in this…I might just…" he mimed apparating. Hermione nodded, accepting what he was saying grimly. The word 'reputation' reminded her of something,
"Take her with you," she said, gesturing to Astoria, "it sounds like the last thing she needs is getting her family into even more trouble. I'll be in touch when we've taken the others to St Mungo's and see if there's anything wrong. I can let you know if your healer can do anything for her."
He nodded, reaching for Astoria who seemed too dazed to do anything other than follow him. They were gone in the moment that the others reached them. The clamour of voices and the crowd of people leaning in enveloped them, filling the space where the two Slytherins had been. Harry caught Hermione's eye questioningly but she just shook her head. She had just a moment where she had to blink away tears before Neville and Luna had one arm on each side of her, asking her if she was alright and she had to snap back into the present, to trying to find words to describe what had just happened.
Everything moved so fast after that. She was jostled on a stream of well meaning helpers back to the house, separated from the others. The living room seemed so crowded that she could barely see Harry where he was laid out on the sofa for the backs surrounding him. Brushing Luna's hands off her forearms, she pushed her way over to Ron who was standing at the sink in the kitchen, gripping the chipped porcelain with both hands and staring out of the small window at the healers apparating into the garden and approaching the house.
"What a day." She attempted, with a watery smile.
"It's only about five in the morning,"
"Well it's already been enough of a day for me." She was hoping he might pick up the baton of her weak attempt at banter. For a moment the corners of his eyes crinkled in that amused way that made her stomach flip over, and she was sure he was about to say something back but the hammering on the door that made them both jump despite knowing it was coming put paid to it.
Now his expression turned serious. He reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling her behind him as he shoved people out the way until they reached Harry. Ginny tried to bar his way.
"What the hell has happened Ron? Are any of you going to tell us what in Merlin's name is going on?" her voice was shrill with fear and her eyes were wet.
It was testament to Ron's rise in the family pecking order in recent years that when he told her "not now," she recognised the look in his eyes and moved wordlessly out of the way.
Without wasting time asking Harry how he was feeling, Ron turned to the two of them, "We need to get our stories straight, and fast. What the fuck are we going to tell people we were doing in the Ministry that isn't going to lose all three of us our jobs? We might not get another chance to talk before they question us." The strategist who always triumphed at Wizard's chess was showing his strength now, even as a witch in lime green robes was picking her way towards the trio. "I think our best option is to stick as close to the truth as possible."
"Apart from the bit where you sneaked us inside the Ministry." Hermione surmised.
"Right, apart from that bit."
Harry lifted his head, "Hazeldene said they had built their own secret floo point directly into that dungeon. We could say we got in that way."
"Even better, that the Lestranges captured us and forced us through the floo." Hermione caught on to the tale. The three of them nodded in agreement.
"And the good thing is, everyone who can disagree with us is dead," Ron said, "Oh bollocks, except for Malfoy."
"He won't betray us. Especially as we are not going to mention him being there. Or Astoria."
Ron raised his eyebrows at this and Hermione could tell that his desire to challenge her defence of Malfoy was warring with his knowledge that she was probably right. Harry must have sensed it too because he raised his finger in warning at him, "Don't start."
"Also, if anyone asks what happened to Umbridge, just say you don't know." Hermione urged them.
"What did happen to Umbridge?", asked Harry and Ron in unison, their faces twin pictures of curiosity.
"She's dead. Better you don't know any more than that."
"Well then, there's no danger of me saying what happened to her is there. Although, I must say, that sounds pretty fishy to me! Nothing to arouse the old suspicion like mentioning her unnecessarily then refusing to give any details." Now the shadow of a grin that she had seen on Ron's face earlier bloomed fully, causing her to snort with laughter. Soon the three of them were giggling like school children.
"Nothing to see here, move along please!" chortled Harry, "Oh heck, look serious guys, they're coming to take us in now." A pair of healers unceremoniously levitated him off the sofa, one encasing his legs in a giant purple bubble to stop them bumping into anything on the way out.
Ron gave Hermione's hand a quick squeeze before he too was led away by a green robed healer.
The rest of the day was a blurred cycle of waiting, being examined, given various potions and treatments and then more waiting. Hermione was so exhausted from the combination of magical depletion and physical exertion that at one point, she fell asleep sitting upright in a hard plastic chair, only waking with an unladylike snort when a junior healer poked her a little too roughly with his wand . At least he had had the decency to move her to a bed after that. Arthur had offered to stay with her but she was so worried that one of the healers might reveal her pregnancy somehow, that she convinced him he would be better off heading over to the Ministry and seeing what he could find out.
There was such a mixture of magical damage and the more mundane but equally serious wounds from the building collapse that they were all treated separately, healers hurrying from bed to bed, trying to deal with the sudden influx of patients. Hermione hoped that was all it was, although the paranoid part of her brain born of guilt was worried they had been kept apart to stop them from working together to come up with a story of what had happened. She heard two healers talking to each other in hushed tones, "Half the Ministry's collapsed in on itself, they don't know what could have caused it," "they've had to remove several bodies from the wreckage," "the entire place is closed down apparently".
By speaking authoritatively to a particularly nervous looking apprentice healer about how she needed to show her exactly where on Harry's legs he had sustained the damage, she managed to talk her way into seeing him and was relieved to the point of tears to find that other than being under the painful influence of skele-grow, he was fine.
A matronly Irish witch with iron grey hair, half moon spectacles and a brisk manner that reminded Hermione of Madam Pomfrey, had asked her about what had happened to the girls, about the curse that had been put on them. She told her everything she knew, ignoring her raised eyebrows when she mentioned the Dragora potion.
"Dragora? A risky business that, from what I've heard. Never used it before myself mind. I didn't think it was much more than a myth. Still, that curse you're describing, I've never seen anything like that before either."
"Are they going to be ok?" Hermione pressed her urgently.
"We've performed scans on them and it looks like the Dragora's done the job, there's no sign of pregnancy in any of them. But I don't like the look of their vitals. I'm going to prescribe them all a tincture of Menthus Aquatica to see if that doesn't flush that poison out of their veins." She was talking to herself more than Hermione now, tapping the tip of her wand thoughtfully against her chin as she mused about how best to treat them.
Hermione tapped her tentatively on the arm and asked if she could fetch Healer Madgewick to see her.
"From Reproductive Healing? What for?" her eyes dropped to Hermione's midriff.
Hermione laughed awkwardly and waved her arms as if to bat away the older woman's inquisitive gaze, "Oh not for me, I just wanted to speak to her about something Hazeldene said to me about them not really being pregnant. I thought she might appreciate some details as I guess she'll have to check their reproductive health."
"Hmmm," nodded the healer curtly, her lips thin and her eyes still looking over Hermione in a way that suggested she wasn't fooled. Still, she agreed to fetch her and bustled away without any more questions.
Waiting nervously, Hermione fiddled with the diamond ring on her finger, both wishing Ron could be with her and hoping he would stay away long enough that she could get checked out.
After what seemed like an age, the wizened old healer entered her cubicle. Her robes were an eyewatering combination of bright orange and teal today. Hermione took one look at her and burst into tears, explaining in a terrified whisper as she dampened the ancient witch's shoulder that she was sure she was pregnant and she was worried about the effect the last few hours of trauma might have had on the baby.
Calla Madgewick had too many experience of dealing with hysterical expectant witches to be fazed by Hermione's show of emotion. Wordlessly, she laid her back down on the narrow bed and passed her wand several times over her torso. After an excruciating pause during which time Hermione was sure her heart was going to beat right out of her chest, the elderly lady beamed.
"Everything's perfect my dear, just perfect. Baby is looking absolutely fine. Not entirely sure I can say the same for you though, you look absolutely done in."
"The healers have checked me over, I'm fine. Just magical depletion. They said I just need to rest and it'll come back in a day or two." Now the fear that had been carrying her along on a wave of adrenaline had passed, Hermione found she was so tired, she could barely move her lips to talk.
"Nonsense, you're showing clear signs of exhaustion and distress. I'm prescribing you six hours of dreamless sleep right now."
It was obvious that she was going to brook no argument but Hermione tried anyway, "But Ron – I need to see him, to check if he's ok. He doesn't even know about the baby yet, I need –"
Madgewick held up a tiny wrinkled hand, "No," she said firmly. "You need to take care of yourself now you're growing a baby, that's what you need. Now take this." She held out a small bottle towards Hermione and looked at her expectantly.
Hermione still protested, begging the healer not to mention anything about the pregnancy to Ron, and only after having got her agreement, she drank the potion and slipped into oblivion.
It could have been minutes, or weeks later when she was dragged back from the darkness by someone shaking her awake.
"Whassamarrer" she mumbled, as she rubbed her gritty eyes with her fists. Opening her eyes blearily, the sight of Ron in front of her, his freckles showing themselves against the pale anxiety on his face, roused her fully awake instantly.
"What's the matter?" She asked again, more coherently.
Ron's adams apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed before answering, "We've been summoned before the full Wizengamot."