Her lips trembled. She felt herself threatening to unravel again, like a string tugged too sharply. She tried to tuck him on her shelf, but it was like grasping water with her bare hands. Taking a ragged breath, she forced her thoughts to shift to Narcissa — the only Malfoy with known whereabouts. She could start with her first, and worry about Draco and Lucius later.

Narcissa was being kept at Malfoy Manor. Hermione's mind clicked with the possibilities. Lucius's memories were there. The evidence of brewing the antidote was there. There were piles of notes beneath her bed that attested to her treatment — hand-written spells that could only be performed with a wand. Narcissa's wand.

Beyond her logic, her heart clenched with the desire to see Narcissa again. To make sure that she was being treated fairly, and assure her that she had everything well in hand.

With a final burst of energy, Hermione stood. Her muscles protested, but she grit her teeth and walked to the closet across her room. It was empty, except for a pair of soft-soled shoes. She slipped them on and tread quickly to the door, poking her head out of her room. Noise washed over her — distant, but frenzied. The corridor itself empty.

With a sharp breath, she stepped out of her room. She followed the echoes of rushing feet and agonized screams down two corridors until she turned a corner and found the chaos. Lime-green clad mediwitches and mediwizards rushed about the room, attending to at least fifty men and women laid out on gurneys. Their black uniforms were splattered in blood and dirt.

Hermione froze in horror. A pale-looking girl screamed as an Acid Hex ate away at her calf. An older man nearby was writhing, his eyes rolling back in his head. A panicked weeping filled her ears — a young man across the room, jerking as he coughed out red spray. Against the far wall, a girl with a hole where her arm should have been. She was chanting something in French.

Hermione swayed. Her vision tunneled. Her eyes fell to a pair of bloody footprints smeared down the tiles. They disappeared at a gurney with an unmoving body atop it.

Just when Hermione was about to step forward, and try to do something — anything — there was a commotion behind her. She stepped to the side just as a dozen Healers ran past her, moving quickly to assist the injured.

Time slowed to a crawl as she watched them perform diagnostics and cast countercurses. They clutched hands and pressed palms to foreheads. The boy stopped coughing; the girl stopped screaming. A mediwitch bent over the older man.

Hermione's senses were finally beginning to return to her when a shadow blocked her path.

A Healer.

"What are you doing?" he hissed. "Go back to your room!"

Hermione jerked backward, her mouth falling open. "I was just… I was hoping to help. If there's a spare wand, I could provide basic Healing—"