“Well,” he finally said, “if that's how little you believe in us then you aren't someone whose help I need. Trust me, I won't ever ask again.” He turned on his heel and stormed out of the room.
Ron stared at Hermione as she slumped against the wall. His expression was sad and resigned.
“I don't understand why you do this,” he said after a moment. “Do you still believe we'll only win if we use the Dark Arts?”
Hermione's arm was throbbing from the bone regrowth, and she was fighting back tears.
“We aren't the side trying to kill everyone. Considering the number of people we're protecting, there are very few means I wouldn't consider worth it,” she said, blinking her eyes rapidly so they'd stop pricking.
“You know Harry can't,” Ron said seriously. “If he thinks that he's going to have to go Dark to win, it'll destroy everything he's fighting for. He wants to be normal after this. He won't have that if he goes Dark.”
“I know. I just want him to stop getting in everyone else's way.”
Ron stared at her in silence for several moments. “You think everyone else should. Me and you and the rest of DA and the Order.”
“I'm in the hospital ward, Ron,” she said, too tired to gesture or even move as she spoke. “Whether you win a battle or lose it, all I see is the cost. Sometimes it seems like you and Harry don't realise how few lives we can still afford to lose. This war is bigger than Harry and his family getting to be normal afterward. What do you think will happen to the Resistance if we lose? What about the Muggle world? Harry doesn't have anyone in the Muggle world he cares about. You don't know anyone out there at all. But my parents are out there. My classmates from primary school. My grandparents and cousins. If my soul is the price of protecting them — of protecting you, that's — that's not a price. That's a bargain.”
She straightened, feeling like she was about to fall over.
“I have to go check up on everyone else,” she said, stumbling out of the room.
It was mostly simple injuries. When fighting Death Eaters, injuries tended to either be lethal or minor.
Charlie was mostly bruised and grazed with a curse that wouldn't stop bleeding. He'd taken two Blood-Replenishing Potions waiting for her to come back. Fred had a concussion and internal bruising that Hermione got repaired in short order.
Tonks' wrist was badly sprained. It only took a few minutes for Hermione to perform the spellwork and apply a potion.
“Glad to see you're still kicking,” Tonks said, staring at Hermione with a serious expression. Tonks' hair was dark and limp; there were streaks of grey in it.
Hermione gave a wan smile as she massaged the potion into Tonks' skin to reduce the swelling.
“Who trained you?” Tonks lowered her voice and leaned forward.
Hermione stilled slightly before she continued massaging Tonks' wrist.
“I was all over Europe for training.”
“Don't play dumb with me; that's not what I was talking about. I remember how you used to fight,” Tonks said, eyeing Hermione. “You're completely different now. You were deadly. And despite your inexperience in the actual field, it was obvious you know a lot more than you possibly should. Someone dangerous trained you.”
Hermione said nothing.
“How many people did you kill today, Hermione? Ten? Fifteen? Do you even know?”
Hermione's jaw started quivering, and she ground her teeth together to stop it.
“Have you ever killed anyone before? You haven't. I'd remember that. Today was the first time, and you haven't even had time to think about it, have you?”
Hermione flinched.
“What have you gotten yourself into?” Tonks asked, reaching out and resting her hand on Hermione's.
There was a pause.
“It was just supposed to be precautionary. I didn't expect to use it all so suddenly,” Hermione finally managed to say.
“Who? Who do you know that's that deadly? Moody trained me, so I know it's not his style. Or Amelia Bones'. Or Shacklebolt's.”
“I don't have permission to share the information. Moody is aware. You can verify with him.”
Tonks blinked and stared at Hermione for several seconds.
“That curse, to save Ron. I've heard about it — you went deep into the Dark Arts with that. Make sure you aren't alone; whoever you've got that you go to, you should probably send a message to.”
Hermione nodded absently. The pain in her arm was growing distracting. Internally, she was beginning to feel worn thin; a symptom that she had pushed beyond what strengthening potions could counter.
“Is Remus alright?” Hermione asked. She still hadn't examined him or Harry, but she knew Tonks would have checked Remus as soon as they got back.
“Yep. I checked him carefully. You know how quick he heals from almost anything. He went to report to Kingsley that we got Ron back.”
“Alright.” Hermione nodded, struggling to stand.
“Hermione,” Tonks caught her as she stumbled. “What happened to you?”
“It's nothing. I'm fine. I'm just not used to being in the field. I'm not as fit as the rest of you,” Hermione said, trying to step away.
“You disappeared when the rest of us were unconscious,” Tonks' eyes were narrowed and then widened. “Did you cast the curse that killed everyone?”
“No,” Hermione said quickly, shaking her head. “I don't know what that was.”
“But you know how it happened, don't you? Your teacher — came for you.” Tonks looked suddenly tense. “How injured were you? Who is it that you have in your pocket with that much firepower?”
Hermione grasped for an explanation that would satisfy the former auror.
“Talk to Moody. If he'll clear you, I'll tell you anything you want to know.”
“Since when are you so classified?” Tonks said, her eyes wide with wonder.
“You know I can't tell you that either,” Hermione said, pulling her arm away.
“Fine,” Tonks said. “Tell me how injured you were then. I'm assuming that's not classified.”
Hermione couldn't think of any reason to lie.
“I got stabbed. In the lung. It nicked my liver too. It's repaired now.”
“Shit! That doesn't mean you should be standing. You know better than me that just because Muggle injuries can be fixed fast doesn't mean they don't take a huge toll physically. You should be in a bed, and we should be coming to you,” Tonks hissed.
“If I told anyone, it would raise questions l can't answer,” Hermione said steadily. “It'll be fine. I'll just need a lot of sleep once I finish. I only need to see Harry. Then I'll rest.”
“Alright,” Tonks stepped back and let her go, but her eyes were still suspicious and concerned.
As soon as Hermione got out of the room, she leaned against the wall. She tried to gather any reserves she had left before going to find Harry.
He was on the roof, staring out over the pond below while he smoked. There were dozens of cigarette butts scattered around him.
He noticed her but didn't make any move to come to her.
She climbed out of the window awkwardly with only one arm to support her. She almost lost her balance but caught herself determinedly. If she fell off the roof in her current condition, she might die. She steeled herself and made her way to Harry, trying not to look down.
“What happened to us, Hermione?” he asked when she got close.
“A war,” she said, reaching out and turning his face toward her. There was a gash on his head. His pale skin was faintly red from the blood he'd washed off. His expression was sad, tired, and angry.
“Who changed? Was it you or me?” he asked as she laced her fingers through his hair and pushed it aside so she could close the wound.
“Me,” she admitted.
“Why? Do you think I won't be able to do it?” he said. “Are you trying to brace yourself that I'll fail?”