Padma carefully poured the potions into Hermione's mouth and lightly massaged the analgesic into the skin before dripping small drops of Essence of Dittany into each of the boils. Hermione lay on the floor for several minutes, waiting for the moment when the potions kicked in, in the hopes that somehow things would become somewhat bearable.
She could feel the damage in her bones. It inched toward her lungs as she struggled to breathe. She forced herself to stand and shakily flicked her wand to repair her shirt as she made her way across the foyer.
She was dying.
It felt like she was dying.
She forced herself to mentally separate from the pain and set to work, immediately moving to the most difficult injuries while Padma and the other healers tended to everything else.
Every movement was painful. Breathing was agonising. Hermione couldn't so much as twitch her arm without feeling every bit of damage in her chest. She bit down on her lip and forced herself not to cry; if her chest heaved from weeping, she was afraid she'd black out.
Her lungs kept agitating her with the urge to cough. Her esophagus contracting, and her chest jerking slightly as she fought against it. If she coughed, she would probably fracture her sternum.
She nearly cast a diagnostic, but she didn't think she could handle knowing how much bone damage she was ignoring.
She downed a cough suppressing potion and forced herself to breathe shallowly.
Recovering would be slow. Just repairing it would likely take hours.
She turned slowly, taking in the seemingly endless number of hospital stretchers she was surrounded by.
There were so many injuries. Hag disembowelments and vampire bites. Werewolf maulings. Dozens of curses that Hermione had never seen before. Sussex was a death chamber, slowly wiping out the Resistance. She recognised some of them as curses Severus and Draco had warned her about and provided counter-curses to. Deep cuts that wouldn't close; non-serious looking boils that suddenly swelled and burst, causing the individuals to begin hemorrhaging. She pulled conjured scorpions, vipers, and even a lobster out of stomachs and chests.
The air stank of internal organs and blood and Dark Magic.
She healed and healed, and the bodies brought to her never seemed to stop. She thought she saw Harry and Ron arrive, but they were gone again before she could look away from the injured Muggle boy she was healing.
As she performed a complicated spell to repair a shredded large intestine, she gradually became aware of someone standing beside her.
She glanced over and found Kreacher looking up at her.
“Is Potter's Mudblood alright?”
She stared at him blankly but didn't reply as she moved on to the next injury with a wince, downing another cough suppressing potion as she went.
“Potter's Mudblood is hurt.” Kreacher said in a tone that was as conclusive as it was derisive.
“Kreacher, get out of here.” Padma said, her eyes narrowed and furious. “I need someone with basic healing over here.”
“How hurt is Potter's Mudblood?”
“How about I curse you with acid in the chest too, and you can see?” Padma snapped, kicking him out of the way as she bustled past.
Kreacher skittered back and stared at Hermione for another minute as she deconstructed an unfamiliar curse signature on a witch whose bones were slowly dissolving inside her.
When Hermione looked up again, Kreacher had disappeared.
When the witch was done, Hermione stumbled over and took another dose of pain relief, a strengthener, and Draught of Peace as she tried to force her hands to stop shaking.
Her lungs were beginning to rattle. She downed yet another cough suppressant and tried not to think about it. Padma hadn't indicated that anything about the injury was life-threatening.
She turned trying to see where she needed to go next. Most of the most complex injuries had been dealt with. She went to join Padma in healing the mid-level curses.
“Do you want me to try to treat you now?” Padma asked, hesitantly touching Hermione's wrist.
Hermione paused for a moment, considering, then shook her head. “Do you know why our backup healer isn't here? We summoned her two hours ago.”
Padma's face grew tense. “I don't know. I've sent five more patronuses. I haven't heard anything back.”
Hermione flicked her wand and healed an entrail expelling curse. She felt almost numb beyond the searing pain in her chest.
“Then”—she said slowly—“we should wait a little longer. Until we know no one else is going to be brought in. Kingsley — Kingsley never came back. I should wait — in case he does. He was cursed.”
“You should stop moving,” Padma said. “There are enough field healers here; we can manage all the treatment that remains. Go rest while you wait for Kingsley. I can stun you if you'd like.”
“It's more bearable if I have something else to concentrate on. Just — give me something that doesn't require me to move my arms.”
“Why don't you close the cuts? All the ones over there have had the curses removed. That's just a wrist movement.” Padma's face was grey with worry and guilt as she stared at Hermione.
Hermione nodded and turned to go.
She was beginning to suspect that her injury was beyond Padma's abilities. The lung and esophagus damage she could sense would require advanced healing magic and possibly two healers in order to coordinate the spellwork.
With Pomfrey sick — without their healer from St Mungo's making an appearance — Hermione was the only person who knew it all.
Hermione would need to stay conscious while Padma removed Hermione's sternum and ribs and repaired her lungs and throat in order to instruct her about how to do it. The mere thought had Hermione on the verge of breaking down.
She would probably black out from the pain and have to be rennervated—
Repeatedly.
Her hands started trembling violently. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe. Her chest spasmed and she gave a low gasp of pain.
She needed to make sure everyone else with serious injuries was healed so Padma could heal her uninterrupted. It would be worse if Padma had to take breaks. Maybe if Kingsley came back, he'd be able to get a healer.
Hermione opened her eyes and blinked dazedly. Kreacher had appeared once again and was standing in front of her.
“Potter's Mudblood is still working,” he said, looking her up and down.
Hermione began to move around him. As she passed him, she felt his bony hand reach up and grab her wrist. She glanced down in surprise as she felt herself vanish.
The squeeze of apparition on her damaged bones was mind-bending. She felt them fracturing as she reappeared. She gave an agonised cry and the bones ground together. The cry made her chest abruptly expand and contract, resulting in a sharp, searing pain as something snapped inside her chest. She screamed.
She fell forward and felt herself caught by the shoulders.
Everything hurt, and hurt, and hurt. Blinding, blinding pain. She was barely conscious of anything else. Every time she sobbed, she felt the bones grind together and break again inside her chest. She kept trying and failing to stop.
“Stupefy.”
When she reawakened, she found herself immobile. Glancing around wildly, she found Draco staring down at her, pale and wide-eyed.
She stared at him.
“You...” She felt her jaw clench with anger and had to force the words out. “What did you do?”
“You were injured. What do you think I did?” His voice was vibrating with intensity.
Hermione tried to look down and found she couldn't move her neck. She was paralysed. She rolled her eyes down towards her chest. It was wrapped in bandages and an exoskeleton cast that supported her lungs while her sternum and ribs were regrowing. She could feel the sharp, needle-like pricking of the Skele-Gro. It had been hours since she had been knocked out based on the regrowth she could sense.