He nodded and his pale blue eyes flooded briefly with tears. His whole body was shaking as though he were going into shock.
“You saved her, Ron,” she said, pulling him down into a hug. “You bought her enough time to get back. If you hadn't, it might have been too late, or she might have lost her eye. She'll have a scar, but she's going to be fine.”
“Oh Merlin,” Ron collapsed slightly in Hermione's arms. “Lucius showed up. We apparated but when we landed we realized Ginny was hit. When I saw it—“
He dragged his hand across his eyes and it smeared blood across his pale skin. His hands were shaking uncontrollably.
“All I could think of was when Dad came back. And after George. And now Gin — and I — she looked at me and I knew I had to try. It was — it was worse than anything—”
Ron sobbed and buried his head into Hermione's shoulder. She wrapped her arms around him tightly.
“I just kept trying to tell myself it was to save h-her,” he mumbled into her shoulder. “Mum — I promised Mum I'd keep her safe — told her I'd never let anything happen to Gin.”
“You did save her,” Hermione said into his ear. “You did exactly what you needed to do.”
“I am going to kill the Malfoys,” he muttered into her ear. “Lucius and Malfoy, I'm going to kill them both. I don't care if I have to wait until after the war to do it.That family deserves to die.”
Hermione didn't let the circles she was rubbing into Ron's shoulders falter. She just hugged him tighter.
The oath to kill the Malfoys was an increasingly common refrain among the Weasleys; the primary exception to their firm opposition to killing. It had started after Dumbledore's death, but grown more frequent after Bill returned from a mission dragging his wailing father with him. Lucius Malfoy had made a point of identifying himself immediately after cursing Arthur with some obscure spell that had resulted in giving Arthur the mental capacity of a toddler.
Hermione had gone through every healing manual and obscure book of curses that she could get her hands upon but she never managed to find out what the curse was or any means by which to reverse or lessen the effects.
In some ways, Hermione sometimes guiltily thought, it was worse than if Arthur had died. Which was probably what Lucius had intended. Arthur Weasley was gone, except not. His friendly, curious, affectionate self remained, trapped in the body of a middle-aged man and a child's mind. He needed to be watched constantly. He would only mind a few people, and was prone to having explosions of accidental magic and minor seizures when upset. His effective loss was a staggering, dual setback for the Order. Molly had to step away almost entirely to care for her husband full time. She had taken him to live at one of the hospice safe houses. When George was able to leave the hospital ward at Grimmauld Place, he had joined his mother in helping to care for his father.
“You are a good brother,” Hermione murmured to Ron.
When his shaking finally eased she pulled back slightly in order to ask the question pressing in her mind.
“Ron, can you tell me what you used to remove the necrosis? Was it spellwork or a knife?”
“A knife. One of the ones from Harry's vault,” he said.
“Can I see it?” she asked steadily.
“Sure,” Ron said, somewhat confused. He glanced around looking slightly dazed still. “I think it's downstairs. Neville has our stuff.”
Hermione stepped back and poked her head into the hospital ward.
“Poppy, can you check Harry and Ron for injuries? And administer a Draught of Peace? Double for Ron. I need to check something.”
Hermione made her way downstairs. Neville and Hannah Abbott were mopping up the floor with magic.
“Nev, can you show me Ron's rucksack?”
He nodded over toward the corner.
“It's the one with all the blood on it. I haven't cleaned it yet.”
Hermione went over and started going through it carefully. The contents had been flung in haphazardly. There was blood drying on everything. Shoved into a outer pocket she caught sight of a knife handle.
She pulled it out carefully. It was goblin-wrought, as she had suspected.
She carried it into the kitchen and washed the blood off. Then she pulled a small piece of raw chicken from the stasis bin and ran the entire blade of the knife lightly across the meat. The magically sharp edge sliced effortlessly. Then Hermione laid the knife carefully aside and stared down at the chicken.
A minute passed. Then two. Hermione wondered if she'd been mistaken. Then, a small speck of darkness appeared on the chicken. Hermione stared and watched as it slowly grew larger and larger over the next several minutes.
Hermione cast a stasis charm but it had no effect on the rot steadily spreading across the meat.
She cast a barrier charm on the blade of the knife, and several protective wards. Then she wrapped it in several towels and put a repelling charm on the whole thing. Then she placed it in a drawer which she locked and booby-trapped with several stinging hexes and an alarm.
She turned and went back up to the hospital ward.
Harry was sitting next to Ginny, holding her hand. His eyes were huge and devastated and his face was pale. He was chewing nervously on his lip. When Hermione laid her hand lightly on his shoulder, he started and looked sharply up at her.
He smiled thinly. A hospital smile. A rictus. The faint, wan tightening across the face that givers made with the intention of appearing encouraging or stalwart, but which alway just looked fractured.
When Ginny woke she would wear the same expression while she reassured everyone that she was fine; that she didn't mind her scar; that she really was fine.
Hermione smiled sadly down at Harry and conjured a chair in order to join him
“She shouldn't have come,” Harry said after a minute.
“The Order decided what the best unit would be, she wasn't there because of you two,” Hermione said. “Lucius' grudge doesn't have anything to do with whether you and Ginny are together.”
“I'm going to have to tell them not to pair us anymore,” Harry said, looking up from Ginny's hand to stare into the distance.
His expression was dazed and his bright emerald eyes didn't seem to see the hospital ward. Hermione recognized the expression. He was back on the mission, reliving it over and over, in order to berate himself over what had gone wrong.
“It was all my fault,” he said. His voice was small, quavering slightly. “I should have put the wards up sooner. The mission was so easy. Pointless. It was like a trip with her and Ron. Like we were camping for fun. I let my guard down.”
Hermione said nothing. It was confession. He was so stunned and grieved that he had things he needed to say. He just needed to verbalise it. He couldn't tell Ron. He felt too guilty to direct it at Ginny beside him.
Hermione had listened to a lot of confessions from those on bedside vigil in the hospital ward. Sometimes she felt like a priest.
“After we got away — when I saw it on her face — I froze,” he said after several moments of silence. “When I saw she'd been hit. I didn't — She started crying. And Ron stunned her. And I was just standing there. I just stood there while he was cutting her face up. I barely snapped out of it enough to apparate us back. Ron had to do almost everything. It was just like Colin. I just stood there.”
“No one could have saved Colin,” Hermione said quietly.
“I could have helped save Ginny!” Harry snapped suddenly furious. “What if she had died? And I had just been standing there? The woman I love — my best friend's sister. I just stood there and watched her face rot—”
He dropped Ginny's hand and shoved his glasses up, rubbing his eyes.
“What if she'd died? Or become like Arthur? Because I was careless and didn't put the wards up?” Harry's voice was trembling and his hands were clenched into fists. Hermione could feel the magic shivering around him as his guilt and emotions continued to grow.