The Inadequate Life

Hermione’s eyes fluttered, and opened. She blinked dazedly, coming back to herself slowly as the effects of her trance faded.

She was fortunate that the trance state had provided her with some rejuvenation of energy, or she would have been all in. Maintaining the two Anti-Apparition fields—one very far away—had been less difficult than she’d feared; the fact that she’d practiced several times had obviously helped. But during her practicing, no one had tried to break through the fields, and the effort of holding them against that onslaught had been a shock. Voldemort had definitely tried to take down the field that blanketed the meadow where he’d been sent by Portkey—Hermione had barely managed to maintain it. She could only pray that Harry, Ginny, Neville and Pansy had succeeded in their part.

As she focused on the room she was in, Hermione started. The room was a mess, with furniture overturned and curtains torn. There were scorch marks in several places, indicating that Curses had been thrown. And the still bodies of three Death Eaters were scattered around the room. One of them…

Hermione had to look away. The man was a pulped mess. From the blood and the cracked plaster, it was clear that his face had been rammed into the wall, over and over.
What on earth happened…?

“Is it done, then?”

“Ron?” Hermione said, turning to her left. Ron was leaning against the wall, battered and bruised, his wand clutched tightly in his hand. He was liberally covered with blood, and his—

Hermione shrieked. Where Ron’s right foot should have been was a bloody stump. His foot was gone completely, blasted off at the ankle. “RON!” Hermione shrieked again, and scrambled towards him. She was so distressed that she couldn’t even maintain the Levitation Charm that had become second nature to her, and had to drag herself across the floor to Ron’s side. “Ron, are you—oh no, I can’t—what happened?”

“They did,” Ron said tightly, gesturing at the fallen Death Eaters. “The burst in and disarmed me. Then they found you—they were going to—” He hissed and clutched his leg. “This hurts almost as much as Cruciatus,” he groaned.

“Cruciatus? You mean they—?” Hermione threw her arms around Ron. “I’m –sorry!” she sobbed. “I sh-should have been there to h-help—”

Ron pried her off. “You did your part, and I did mine,” he told her sharply.

You d-did this?” Hermione gasped. “Just you? B-but—but you said they’d disarmed you…”

“I did what I had to,” Ron replied, clenching his jaw. “If you pulled it off, then it was worth it. You did pull it off, right?”

Hermione nodded shakily, rubbing at her watery eyes. “I f-felt Voldemort try to break the field. But it held.”

“Then we have to find out what happened,” Ron insisted.

“What we have to do is go to St. Mungo’s!” Hermione countered. “You’ve lost far too much blood…”

“I took that blood-replenishing potion Cho left us,” Ron said, pointing his wand at the leather satchel of potion vials. “Helped a lot.”

“Even so,” Hermione insisted. “Come on!” she wrapped her arms around Ron again, concentrated, and Apparated them both.

They appeared in the foyer at St. Mungo’s. It looked almost like a war zone itself; dozens of people were Apparating in and out, many of them wearing Ministry robes. Apparently the Aurors had sent people into Diagon Alley the second Hermione had dropped the Anti-Apparition field, and were taking the Death Eaters—the ones that were still alive—into custody, and hauling them to the hospital for treatment. The foyer looked like a war zone itself; there were wounded people everywhere, and the floor was nauseatingly thick with blood.

Hermione cast the Levitation Charm on Ron, and began using her magic to shove her way through the crowd, with Ron right behind her. “Help!” she tried to call: “I need a Healer!” But there were too many people. Scowling, ignoring the renewed tears on her cheeks, Hermione made her way toward the front desk.

“Hermione!”

Hermione spun around. Lee and Luna were pushing their way through the crowd towards her and Ron, and Hermione didn’t think she’d ever been so happy to see the two of them. “Luna! Lee! What happened? How did it go?”

”Overall, pretty well,” Lee said. “But there’s some bad—” He stopped when he saw Ron’s foot. “Shite! What the hell!”

“We need a Healer for Ron,” Hermione insisted.

“Several D.A. members are in the first emergency room, over there,” Luna said, gesturing toward a hallway. “I’m sure there’s a Healer in there who can tend to Ronald.”

“We were just heading there,” Lee added. “I thought I saw Harry heading that way—he was carrying Ginny…”

Hermione’s heart leapt into her throat. If Ginny needed to be carried… “No,” she said sharply, forcing herself to take charge. “You two, go around and get a head count of all our people! Find out if anyone’s still missing, and if they are, find them!”

Lee hesitated for a moment, but then nodded shortly. Luna smiled vaguely. “Congratulations, Hermione,” she said. “That was a truly impressive display of magic.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said vaguely, already turning to take Ron to the emergency room. Let’s just hope it wasn’t in vain…

The D.A. must have headed to St. Mungo’s in ones and twos, just as they’d planned. Hermione caught a glimpse of Lupin, limping but otherwise all right, being helped by Tonks. Across the room, McGonagall was arguing emphatically with several Aurors, one of which was Kingsley Shacklebolt, who was trying to keep everyone calm—with minimal success from the sound of it.

As Hermione and Ron approached the first emergency room, they could see that there was a lot of activity going on inside. But before either of them could get a good look, a large woman dressed as a Medi-Witch stepped in front of them. “This room’s full,” she said, not cruelly, but with a distinctly hassled look. “The fourth room down the hall should have room—I’ll get someone in to—” she looked down at Ron’s foot. “Oh my!” she exclaimed.

A noise from inside made Ron and Hermione start—it sounded like Neville, whimpering in pain. And if Neville was in there— “This room,” Hermione insisted. “Our friend Harry’s in there!”

“There are dozens of Mr. Potter’s friends running around this hospital,” the Medi-Witch said with clear frustration, “and half of those claiming to be are really reporters for The Daily Prophet! This young man needs medical attention, and if he’ll go to the fourth room then—”

“My sister’s in there too!” Ron shouted.

The Medi-Witch opened her mouth again, but Hermione wasn’t going to argue further. Pointing her wand, she used another Levitation Charm to toss the startled woman aside—though in deference to the fact that the woman was well-meaning and under extreme pressure, Hermione allowed her to land lightly. Then Hermione floated Ron into the room and stepped in behind him.

The room was as chaotic as the foyer. The only area of the room that wasn’t a bustle of activity was the far left bed, where George was lying unconscious—most likely from a Sleeping Draught, since he was snoring lightly. His bare torso had burn marks all over it, but they were already fading, due to a Healer’s attention.

In the second bed was Neville. Pansy hovered at the side of the bed as a Healer and two Medi-Witches tried to Heal the burns on his chest. It looked as though something unthinkably hot had been pressed against him—the skin was blistered and blackened. Neville was grimacing in pain, and his face was almost white, but fortunately he didn’t appear to be in serious danger; one of the Medi-Witches was in the process of getting Neville to drink a pain-damping potion.

When their eyes fell on the third bed, Hermione and Ron both sagged with immense relief. Harry was seated on the bed with his back to them, and Ginny was sitting in front of him, her back against his chest, as a Healer crouched in front of her and examined her. She was clearly awake and alert, which, after hearing Lee’s description, Hermione had almost feared wouldn’t be the case.

“Sweet Merlin!” One of the Medi-Witches hovering near Harry and Ginny had glanced over and spotted Ron. “Healer Turnipseed!”

The woman examining Ginny looked up at the witch and then followed her eyes. “Another bed,” she demanded instantly, standing and making for Ron. “Right here, budge up, everyone!”

“Wait a second!” Harry shouted angrily, twisting around, but then he saw what had caught their attention. “Ron! Hermione!” he called. “What—”

“Hermione?” Ginny said, sitting up. “Is Hermione here?”

Hermione thought that was an odd question since Ginny could have simply looked around. “I’m right here, Ginny,” she said as she levitated Ron onto the new bed one of the Medi-Witches had conjured. “Are you all right? Did you—”

Ginny turned towards Hermione’s voice, and Hermione and Ron both let out startled exclamations. Ginny’s eyes were wrong. Her irises were no longer bright brown—they were white. Every part of her eyes were bleached white, so that only the shadows in her pupils showed any color. “Oh, Ginny!” Hermione gasped, rushing over to her friend. “What happened?”

Ginny reached out blindly and grabbed the front of Hermione’s robes. “Voldemort happened,” she said, her voice wavering. “Him and that thing around my neck! Voldemort t-tried to k-kill me, and it hit that bloody cup and the thing exploded, knocking me out, and I woke up like this!” She began to cry, deep, anguished sobs that tore at Hermione’s heart. “I c-can’t s-see, Hermione—I’m blind, you h-have to fix my eyes!”

“But—but I’m not a Healer,” Hermione protested, crouching down so she was on a level with Ginny. “I’m not trained for—”

“No one’s trained for this!” Ginny shouted. “These idiots don’t have any idea what to do!” She dropped her head. “Please,” she murmured wretchedly. “I c-can’t stay like this…”

“Hush,” Hermione said gently, taking Ginny’s hands in her own. “I swear to you, Ginny, that I will do everything in my power to restore your sight.”

“Thank you,” Ginny whispered.

Swallowing, Hermione glanced at Harry, who looked overwhelmingly grateful. “So what happened, then?” Hermione asked, her tongue tripping nervously over the words. “Is—is it done?”

Even without Harry’s slow nod, the look in his eyes gave Hermione her answer. He wrapped his arms even more tightly around Ginny and pulled her close. “It’s done,” he said softly. “It’s over.”

Hermione let out the breath she’d been holding in. “Then it was all worth it,” she breathed. “Everything.”

“Did I hear that right?” Ron asked from his table. “It’s done? He’s really—” He cut himself off with a swear. “Bloody hell, that hurts!” he shouted at the Healer, who was prodding the spot where his foot should be.

“Ron?” Ginny said, looking up. “Ron, what happened to you?”

“Death Eaters,” Hermione answered. “Apparently some of them burst in on us. I was still under trance, so Ron—dealt with them. One of them managed to—”

“To blow my blasted foot off!” Ron yelped.

Ginny’s jaw dropped. “But—but they can replace it, right?” she stammered. “Or regrow it, or something?”

“I’m not certain,” the Healer said, frowning at Ron’s foot. “Whatever Curse did this, it was very nasty. I’ll have to do some research. In the meantime, we’ll give you some pain-dampening potions. It might be better if you took a Sleeping Draught as well…”

“Hermione,” Harry muttered while the Healer talked to Ron, “have you—have you heard any of what happened?”

Hermione shook her head. “We only just arrived a little bit ago. I saw Lupin and Tonks—they both seemed all right. And McGonagall too. And we did run into Lee and Luna—I sent them around to find what had happened to everyone in the D.A.”

“Good,” Harry said. “No one’s telling me anything, and even if I was willing to leave Ginny—which I’m not,” he added, pulling Ginny closer, “I couldn’t because of all the reporters out there.”

“Reporters,” Ginny said suddenly. “Hermione—we need Rita Skeeter here! And Luna’s dad too!”

“Oh—yes, of course!” Hermione exclaimed. It was a good thing that Ginny had remembered, because apparently no one else had. Standing, Hermione fished in her pocket and pulled out a coin—a silver sickle. Like the D.A. Galleons, the sickle had been enchanted by Hermione with a Protean Charm, but with a specific purpose: only Rita Skeeter and Lawrence Lovegood had matching coins.

Harry had realized long ago that, in the event that they actually succeeded with their plan to defeat Voldemort, Skeeter and Mr. Lovegood were the only people they could trust to report exactly what happened, instead of what the Ministry wants people to hear. Mr. Lovegood would report the truth because of his nature, while the magical contract Harry had with Skeeter would force her to report the truth without embellishment or omission. It had taken a bit of deception on Luna’s part to give her father the coin without revealing the reason for it—she’d simply told him that, since he was always worried about her, she would keep the matching coin and call for his help if she was in trouble.

Hermione tapped the coin with her wand and muttered something; the coin heated up for a moment, and then returned to normal. “There,” Hermione said, replacing the coin in her pocket. “They’ll both get the message.” She glanced across the room where Neville was finally relaxing thanks to a copious number of potions. His chest looked a bit better, but the Healers were apparently uncertain how to completely Heal him. “What happened to Neville?” Hermione asked. “He looks—he looks like he was held over a plate of hot iron.”

“More like a tablet of hot copper,” Harry said with a grimace.

“You mean… Ravenclaw’s tablet?” Hermione said. “But—”

“The same thing happened to him that happened to me!” Ginny snapped. “Voldemort cast the Killing Curse, and the bloody artifact did that!”

“The Killing Curse?” Hermione gasped. “You mean that the—” she dropped her voice. “The transformed Horcruxes stopped the Killing Curse?”

“Not completely,” Ginny responded dejectedly.

“You’re alive,” Harry said, closing his eyes and shuddering. “So it was enough. Anything else, we can work out, or work through.”

Hermione knew exactly what Harry meant. The thought that Ron was wandless and at the mercy of three Death Eaters, that he’d suffered the Cruciatus Curse—Hermione spun around, shoved the Healer aside, grabbed Ron and kissed him fiercely, throwing her arms around him and hugging him close.

Harry grinned at Hermione and Ron. He wished he could do the same with Ginny, but she was more upset about her lost sight then she’d let on. Harry meant what he’d said—her being alive was all he cared about.

Hermione, Harry and Pansy flat-out refused to obey the Healers and leave the injured to rest and be Healed. Harry stayed right where he was, seated on Ginny’s bed with her, while Hermione and Pansy both conjured chairs and sat next to the beds of their respected partners with their wands blatantly displayed in their hands.

The Healers said that George was going to be fine, and all he needed was some sleep while the potions he’d drank did their jobs. They did all they could for Ron, Ginny and Neville, made certain that they were comfortable, and then left them to rest. The promised further research to try and Heal the three injuries. Neville was mostly better, albeit very sore and exhausted, but there was some scarring on his chest that they’d been unable to remove. Harry suspected that it was a curse scar like his own, and would never leave or fade.

Healer Turnipseed had expressed confidence that, if they could figure out what Curse had been used on Ron, they would be able to restore his foot. Unfortunately, since it had been in the middle of a chaotic fight, Ron hadn’t heard it clearly. It was possible that some study of the magical traces would yield an answer.

But Ginny was another story. The Healers were hampered by the fact that no one would tell them exactly how Ginny had lost her eyesight. They ad all agreed long ago that, if they succeeded in defeating Voldemort, they wouldn’t reveal to the general public the truth about the Horcruxes—they didn’t want to give any of Voldemort’s remaining followers any ideas. But without knowing how Ginny had been blinded, the Healers were mostly helpless.

As soon as they had been left alone, Hermione stood up. “Ginny,” she said, “I do know a few Healing spells. I—I don’t know if it will matter, but with the strength of my magic…”

Ginny nodded. “Please try,” she whispered.

No one else spoke as Hermione stood in front of Ginny and cast a series of spells and Charms. They ranged from more general spells meant to Heal almost anything, to charms intended for use in restoration. Hermione put everything she had into her casting, but after almost half an hour she sagged dejectedly. “Ginny… I’m sorry,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. “I’ll research what’s happened—I’ll get Padma, Sally-Ann and Terry to help, and we’ll figure something out, I promise.”

Ginny mustered up a weak smile. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Hermione,” she said fatalistically. “I know you’ll do everything you can, and that’s a lot—but even that might not be enough.”

There was very little conversation between the six of them (seven counting the sleeping George) after that. No one wanted to discuss what they’d been through just yet. They all waited for word on the rest of the D.A., while the chaos outside the room continued.

When word arrived, it was exactly what none of them wanted to hear. Luna and Lee arrived, and their news was the worst possible. Neville gave a strangled cry when he was told about Susan; they were comforted a little, at least, upon hearing that Justin’s noble death had been worth it, for Cho had single-handedly struck down the half-dozen Death Eaters that had killed him; and everyone was stunned into horrified silence when they heard that Terry had been Kissed by a Dementor—they were all of the opinion that losing one’s soul to a Dementor was worse than death.

When they were told about Charlie, Ron and Ginny both broke down, as did just about everyone else. They’d all prayed, more than anything, that they would get through the fight without losing anyone on their side. It had been a slim chance, but they’d held out hope. And to discover on top of that how one of their own had been forced to betray them… it was simply too much.

But the worst was yet to come. Only ten minutes after Lee and Luna had arrived, eight Aurors appeared bearing the body of Grawp—and another four with the body of Hagrid. When Harry saw Hagrid’s lifeless form being carried past, he lost control completely and cried as he never had in his life, not for anything. Harry’s first real friend, the one who’d ushered him into the Wizarding World, who’d innocently, blindly followed Harry, trusting that Harry would see them through safely…

Harry was grateful to the St. Mungo’s staff for refusing to admit anyone to their room. He didn’t want to deal with the reporters or the Aurors yet—he didn’t want to deal with them, ever. All he wanted to do was go back to the House of Black with Ginny, curl up in their room, and sleep for a year, or ten years, or a hundred—however long it took for people to forget.

But he knew that eventually a reckoning would be called for. Even not counting the Ministry, the press and the public, Harry would have to screw up his courage and face the Bones family, and the Boots. He would have to face Justin’s parents too… and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. And he would have to explain to them exactly why their children had died.