The animosity toward Severus among the younger Order and Resistance members aware of his role in the curse division spiked to an explosive extent. Moody had to exclude Severus from Order meetings in order to maintain peace.
For the uninjured fighters, the coordinated attack was accomplished in less than a day. But for Hermione and anyone else with even a scrap of healer training, it was only the beginning.
They were run ragged trying to care for the inundation of horrifically injured and malnourished people abruptly thrust into their care, in addition to all the injuries sustained during the attack.
They moved the basic injuries out of Grimmauld Place as rapidly as possible, to free beds for the complex curses and wounds that required Hermione's specialised care.
It was weeks before Hermione could be spared to forage or liase. Malfoy had, in the meantime, summoned her urgently twice to retrieve notes he'd left, warning of impending counter-attacks. Voldemort had been enraged by the blow and struck back at the Resistance forcefully. Godric's Hollow was burned to the ground, both the muggle sections and the magical. Voldemort strung together and hung the bones of Lily and James Potter from a gallows for the Order to find when they arrived.
Voldemort scattered vicious attacks across Muggle England; swamping Hermione with a flood of cursed Muggles that she had to stabilise before the Order obliviated them and turned them over to recuperate in Muggle hospitals.
Hermione pulled twenty-four hour hospital shifts with four hour breaks for sleep until her magic gave out entirely toward the end of the third week.
Poppy had dragged her out of the hospital ward and told Moody that if he didn't want Hermione to die or permanently injure her magic, then he and Kingsley would find healers to cover for her.
Hermione suspected that Kingsley took several healers from St Mungo's hostage for the two days when she was recovering. Poppy refused to meet her eyes or answer the question when Hermione had asked who subbed for her.
After nearly a month, things finally calmed slightly.
Hermione had run out of most of the locally foraged potion ingredients. She had headed out. In the lushness of late June she was able to restock most of her supplies quickly before going to meet with Malfoy. She had barely had time to think of him during the last several weeks.
He appeared the moment she stepped through the door. As he did, his expression twisted and he stumbled slightly.
They stared at each other.
“You look awful,” he finally said.
“Thanks,” she said acerbically.
“What happened?” he inquired.
“The Resistance doesn't have any other healers with my specialty,” she said in a tired voice.
She stared at him.
“You look rather awful too,” she said, looking him over carefully. It was an extreme understatement.
He glanced down at himself. His face was tense and gaunt, as though he'd lost a dramatic amount of weight. His features were twisted and drawn. His skin was grey and papery looking. He looked as though he hadn't slept at all since Hermione had last seen him.
“You may have noticed the Dark Lord was rather upset about the attacks,” he said in a bland voice.
Hermione felt herself pale, and her chest hurt as though she'd been struck. She hadn't even thought — she'd had the information and she'd run with it. She'd worried over the possibility of his betrayal, but she hadn't even paused to think that the legitimacy meant Malfoy might pay for having given it to her.
“What happened?” she demanded, drawing her wand and coming toward him.
“It's fine,” he said in a clipped voice.
“What did he do to you?”
“Fuck off, Granger,” Malfoy said, grimacing. His fingers spasmed slightly as he drew away from her.
Hermione ignored him and cast a diagnostic spell. He didn't move.
The diagnostic indicated that he'd been extensively crucio'd. Probably right up to the limit, given that he was still showing the aftereffects weeks later. Or perhaps it had happened repeatedly.
There was something else in the diagnostic. She cast a more obscure diagnostic spell to try to identify what it was.
“What — happened to your back?” she demanded finding it difficult to keep her voice steady as she tried to read the information her charm was revealing. It was a mangled blur of Dark Magic and poison; she wasn't even sure how to interpret it.
Malfoy's face tensed slightly.
“The cruciatus curse is such an excellent punishment for failure,” he said in a light tone, “but overusing it risks compromising the mind. Sometimes a different, permanent reminder is deemed additionally necessary.”
“Take off your shirt,” Hermione demanded. She needed to see what had been done or she wouldn't be able to read the results of the diagnostic. The damage it indicated was an extensive combination injury, unlike anything she'd encountered before.
“Leave it be, Granger,” he said in a hard voice. “Your Order got just what it wanted.” He scoffed faintly. “I just hope it was worth it and you lot didn't only drag out a lot of useless cripples.”
“Let me see,” she pressed. “Just let me see.”
“Don't pretend to care,” he said coldly. “Are you really going to act surprised? You expect me to believe you somehow didn't anticipate this? After all, weren't you hoping I'd die once you had everything you could get from me?”
The bitterness in his voice was so acrid Hermione could almost taste it. It twisted through the room and Hermione could feel his resentment. His loneliness.
“No. I–I'm sorry. I didn't—“ She drew closer to him.
He'd been hurting for weeks because of the opportunity he'd given them. With his rank in Voldemort's army, the blame had surely fallen on him even if he weren't suspected of enabling it.
She hadn't even paused to realise it. Hadn't thanked him. He'd just — slipped from her mind. It hadn't occurred to her how extensively he might pay for it.
“I'm sorry,” she said, reaching toward him, feeling faint with horror and guilt. “I got so caught up in work — I wasn't thinking.”
She unclasped his cloak and gently lifted it off his shoulders. He flinched and stared up at the ceiling, looking resigned.
She slowly unbuttoned his robes and shirt and then, walking behind him, as lightly as she could, drew the clothing off his shoulders.
She gasped.
There were dozens of runes carved into each of his shoulders. Deep. Straight down. Cut all the way into the bones.
The Dark Magic hanging over them was sickeningly palpable. Just standing near them Hermione felt her body break into a cold sweat.
Hermione had read of sorcerers who used dark runic rituals to bind their servants. The brutal ceremony had been outlawed for over a thousand years.
Malfoy had been conscious as the blood and magic was invoked in his flesh; as each line was sliced into him.
The cuts of each rune were still raw, as though they couldn't heal, even though they were clearly weeks old. It reminded her of werewolf injuries. The Dark Magic had become visibly septicemic.
She lifted her hand but refrained from touching him. “What did he do? Draco, how did he do this to you?”
“Goblin-wrought silver blade, infused with Nagini's venom. I'm told that they may eventually heal,” he said in a wooden voice. “There's nothing you can do. Now that you've satisfied your curiosity, we should return to business.”
He tried to turn to face her but Hermione stepped around him, casting several different obscure diagnostic charms and inspecting them. Her magic was stable again, although sleep deprivation made her head feel light and hollow.