ALL NOVEL Chapter 14: IV. XVI.
Pansy felt hollow. An aching emptiness settled in her chest, as if a vital piece of her had been torn away, leaving her vulnerable and broken inside. The image of Hermione, so vibrant and full of life, now reduced to lying motionless in that sterile hospital bed haunted her every waking moment. She had never seen anyone in such a state—had never expected that it would be Hermione, of all people, fighting for her life.
She was always the strong one, the pillar of their group, the person they all looked to when things went wrong. And now, here she was, in a fragile, vulnerable state, her future uncertain. The thought made her heart ache. She could hardly bear to imagine a world without her fierce intellect, her dry wit, or her tireless determination. The pain of seeing her friend in such a condition was almost unbearable.
She woke the next morning, the early light filtering through the curtains, to the rustling sound of an owl delivering a letter. Groggy and emotionally drained, she sat up and blinked at the parchment in her lap. The familiar, loopy handwriting was unmistakable—it was from Luna.
She hesitated for a moment before breaking the seal. Her heart raced as she unfolded the letter, Luna's words coming into sharp focus:
My darling,
Hermione is awake .
Pansy's breath caught in her throat, her eyes scanning the sentence again, as if she didn't dare believe it. Hermione was awake. Relief surged through her, so powerful that she nearly crumpled the letter in her hands. But as she continued reading, her heart sank once more.
Some important information: she needs several surgeries. She is hemiplegic. In her case, her left side is paralyzed. She'll need an extreme amount of physical therapy .
The words felt like a punch to the gut. Hemiplegic. Paralyzed. The severity of Hermione's injuries hit her with full force. How was Hermione supposed to live like that? How would she cope with such a drastic change to her life, to her body? Her mind raced with questions, her stomach churning with a mix of fear and grief. She continued reading, dreading what else the letter might reveal.
She lost her beautiful mane, so we need to cheer her up .
Pansy let out a trembling breath. Hermione's hair—her wild, untamable curls—was gone. It was such a small detail compared to everything else, but it made the reality of Hermione's condition even more stark. Her heart ached for her friend. She knew how much Hermione had always loved her hair, how it had become such a defining part of her.
And yet, despite the overwhelming sadness in Luna's letter, there was a thread of hope woven through it, a reminder of the bond they all shared.
I miss you so much. Do not ever forget, if anything happened to you, I'd do it for you too in a heartbeat.
Love,
Luna.
Tears welled in her eyes as she read those final lines. Luna's unwavering loyalty, her endless compassion, was like a lifeline in the storm of emotions swirling inside her. She didn't know what she would do without Luna, without the strength and support that their friendship provided. Luna had been there for her every step of the way, and now, she was ready to do the same for Hermione.
But could she really handle this? Could she be strong enough to face Hermione, to look into her friend's eyes and not see the fragility or the pain? She wiped her eyes, forcing herself to focus. Luna's words were a reminder that they had to be strong now, not just for themselves but for Hermione. There was no room for weakness, not when their friend needed them the most.
She clutched the letter to her chest, closing her eyes for a moment as she took a deep breath. She could do this. She had to. Hermione needed her, and she would be there—no matter how broken she felt inside.
Without another thought, she quickly dressed and made her way to the hospital. The journey felt like a blur, her mind racing with thoughts of Hermione—awake, but forever changed. The last time she had seen her, Hermione had been so still, so fragile, but now... now she was awake, and that meant there was hope.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She strolled in with Crookshanks in her arms and Lysander toddling behind her, a smirk playing on her lips as Draco waited near the doorway, arms crossed.
"Parkinson, I'm warning you," Draco said, his tone firm but exhausted. "You can't disturb her peace."
Without slowing her pace or glancing his way, Pansy scoffed, "Oh, fuck off, Malfoy."
Ignoring her completely, Draco's demeanor softened the moment he knelt down to Lysander's level. He picked up the boy, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead. "Hello, my little prince," Draco murmured. "Would you like to see Mimi?"
"Mimi!" Lysander's face lit up, clapping his small hands together in pure excitement.
Draco smiled at the boy's innocence and excitement. "Auntie is resting, just like the princess in your bedtime story. Now, I need you to be brave for me, little prince. Can you watch over her and keep her safe?"
Lysander's expression turned serious as he nodded eagerly. "Yess!" His eyes sparkled with the pride of his new responsibility, ready to take on his "prince duties."
Draco chuckled softly, feeling a warmth spread in his chest. "That's my brave boy," he whispered, knowing that Lysander's innocent love brought a sliver of light to the otherwise heavy atmosphere surrounding Hermione.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They stepped quietly into the dimly lit room, the atmosphere thick with a tense mix of hope and anxiety. Crookshanks padded silently behind them, his orange fur a vivid splash against the sterile white sheets of the hospital bed. The moment he entered, the cat leaped onto Hermione's chest, settling down as though it had done so a thousand times before, finding comfort in the familiar warmth of his favorite human. His soft purring filled the quiet room, a soothing sound that cut through the silence like a balm.
But when Hermione remained still, Crookshanks gently tapped her face with his paw, as if trying to rouse her from her slumber.
When she didn't stir, the cat's purring turned into soft, pitiful cries, a mournful sound that echoed her growing unease. She felt her chest tighten painfully at the sight. Her breath hitched, and she swallowed hard, forcing back the wave of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. She couldn't let Lysander see her break. Not now. Not in front of him .
" There you go, Pumpkin," she said softly, placing Lysander gently on the bed. "Go say hi to Mimi. She's asleep, but I bet she can still hear you."
He stared at Hermione for a long moment, his little face serious as if he were trying to comprehend the gravity of the situation. Needing comfort of his own, he reached out and took Hermione's hand, his tiny fingers curling around hers with an innocent grip. Then, with his other hand, he gently stroked Crookshanks, who had nestled comfortably on her chest, still purring, but now with an added urgency that matched her racing heart.
" You see?" She murmured, her voice warm with affection. "You and Crooks are helping Mimi heal, just like the prince in your storybook. You're both taking care of her."
Lysander didn't say a word, but after a beat, he snuggled up against Hermione, resting his head carefully on her chest. "Mimi okay?" he asked, his voice soft, as though he were speaking directly to her, hoping for a response that would assure him of her wellbeing.
"She's okay, little love," she reassured him gently, her heart aching at the sight. "She's just sleeping, like the princess in your story. Give her a kiss, and then we'll go see Mummy, alright?"
"Mummy," he repeated, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to Hermione's cheek before looking up expectantly at her, his wide eyes filled with hope.
Draco, though never particularly fond of the cat, couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy as Crookshanks continued to purr and nuzzle Hermione, his warmth a stark contrast to the cold reality of the hospital room. He reached out, gently stroking the cat's fur, whispering, "I know, buddy. I know." The simple gesture seemed to bridge the gap between Draco's often stoic exterior and the tenderness he felt in moments like this.
With a soft sigh, he leaned in closer to Hermione, placing a delicate kiss on Crookshanks' head before settling down beside them. His presence felt like a quiet fortress, a solid anchor in a stormy sea as he kept vigil by Hermione's side, offering solace in his own way.
The room felt heavy with unspoken words and fears, but there was also an undeniable current of love and hope that pulsed through it, a reminder that they were all in this together.
Just then, the door swung open, and Luna burst in, her face lighting up as she spotted him on the bed. Her heart overflowed with a joy so profound it left her breathless. "Lysander!" she exclaimed, her voice a mixture of relief and happiness.
The little boy giggled, his carefree spirit shining through, as he bounced up to her. He had just realized he was having a sleepover at Pansy's—a place he loved because they let him do anything he pleased. "Mummy! Look!" he said, pointing excitedly to Hermione. "Mimi sleeping!"
Luna's heart melted at the sight of her son, his innocence shining through the darkness that loomed around them. She hurried over, her arms outstretched, and Theo scooped Lysander into his embrace, hugging him tightly, pouring all the love he had into that moment. The warmth between them was palpable, a beautiful contrast to the sterile hospital environment.
Luna watched, her heart swelling with happiness as she took in the scene: her son nestled safely in Theo's arms, both of them radiating love and joy. At that moment, everything felt right—finally, her family was together, whole and united, even if just for a fleeting second amidst the turmoil.
As they stood there, Lysander giggling and wriggling with delight, Luna felt a flicker of hope igniting within her. "We're all here for her," she said softly, glancing at Hermione, who remained still but somehow felt more alive surrounded by the people who loved her. "And we'll be here every step of the way."
She nodded, grateful for the small moments of joy and love in a time that felt overwhelmingly dark. "Yes," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "We'll make sure she knows she's not alone."
And in that fragile moment, surrounded by love, they all silently vowed to fight for Hermione, to uplift her spirit, and to bring her back into the light that she so richly deserved.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Neville stood silently by the door, his tall frame leaning slightly against the wooden arch, waiting for her as the sun cast long, fading shadows across the porch. His face was a mixture of quiet concern and deep worry, though he tried to mask it behind a calm expression. He didn't need to say anything—he knew. He had felt the weight of Pansy's emotions from the moment she left the hospital. The air around them was heavy, saturated with everything unsaid, yet understood.
The moment she saw him, something inside her crumbled. All the strength she had been clinging to, the carefully constructed walls she had built up during the day, collapsed in an instant. She didn't bother with words. She didn't need them. Instead, she rushed forward, and without hesitation, he opened his arms, catching her as she practically fell into him.
The moment she was in his embrace, Pansy broke down completely. The sobs came fast and hard, wracking her entire body as if they had been waiting to be unleashed. She buried her face into his chest, gripping his shirt as though it were the only thing anchoring her to reality. Her tears soaked through the fabric, but he didn't care. He just held her, his arms tightening around her protectively, as if he could shield her from the storm of emotions tearing her apart.
"I c-can't… Nevie, I-I can't…" she choked out between sobs, her voice breaking as if even speaking those words required more strength than she had left.
He didn't respond with words, knowing they would be useless right now. Instead, he gently stroked her back, his hand moving in slow, soothing circles, offering the only comfort he could. His own heart was aching for her, for Hermione, for everything they had been through, but right now, she needed him to be her rock. And so, he stood firm, holding her as tightly as she needed, letting her pour out every ounce of pain she had been holding in.
Minutes passed, though it felt like hours, before her sobs began to quiet. Her body still trembled in his arms, but the flood of tears had slowed to a steady trickle. Her breathing was ragged, and she stayed pressed against him, as if afraid to let go, afraid that the world would come crashing down the moment she did.
" She's so… so still," she whispered after a long silence, her voice hoarse from crying. "I thought I was ready, but seeing her like that, Nevie, I—" She broke off, her voice catching again.
He pressed his lips to the top of her head, his own throat tightening at the thought of Hermione lying there, motionless and vulnerable. "I know," he murmured quietly, his voice barely more than a breath against her hair. "I know it's hard. But she's strong, Parky. Stronger than anyone gives her credit for. She's going to fight, and we'll be here to help her through it. You're not alone in this."
She nodded against his chest, though the weight of his words felt far away, as if they belonged to someone else. She wanted to believe him—needed to—but in that moment, all she could think about was the fragility of it all. How life could change in an instant. How one moment, Hermione had been her fiery, unstoppable self, and the next, she was lying in a hospital bed, fighting for her life.
He continued to hold her, his heart breaking just a little more with every shuddering breath she took. He knew how deeply Pansy cared for Hermione, even if she rarely admitted it out loud. She had always kept her heart guarded, even with him at times. But Hermione's condition had broken through all of her defenses, leaving her vulnerable in a way he had rarely seen.
" I can't lose her, Nevie," she whispered, her voice trembling with fear. "Not Hermione. Not after everything."
"You won't lose her," he said softly, though the uncertainty gnawed at him too. "We won't let that happen. She's a fighter, Parky. And so are you."
She sniffled, pulling back slightly to look up at him, her tear-streaked face still beautiful, even in her grief. "I don't feel strong right now," she admitted, her voice small, almost childlike.
Neville gently cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs wiping away the lingering tears on her cheeks. "You are," he said firmly, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her heart skip. "You're the strongest person I know. And you don't have to carry this alone, okay? I'm here. We're all here."
A fresh wave of emotion washed over her, but this time it wasn't the raw, uncontrollable grief she had felt moments ago. It was something gentler, something warmer. She leaned into his touch, letting his presence fill the cracks in her heart, even if just for a moment.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible, but filled with gratitude.
He smiled down at her, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. "You don't have to thank me. This is what we do. We take care of each other."
With that, he gently led her inside, closing the door behind them as the evening light faded into twilight. The world outside could wait for now. All that mattered in this moment was the quiet, the solace of each other's company, and the love they shared that would carry them through whatever came next.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The loud, resounding knock on the safehouse door jarred Hermione from her restless sleep. The unexpected noise shattered the quiet, leaving her heart pounding as she fumbled in the dark, her mind barely catching up to reality. Before she could fully process what was happening, the door flew open in a burst of motion and color.
Only one person could make such an entrance.
Pansy Parkinson.
With all the dramatic flair of a diva taking the stage, she strode into the room, heels clicking and eyes gleaming with determination. She was laden with a small army of shopping bags, their designer logos flashing like banners of conquest. Her movements were as bold as her gaze, and she assessed Hermione's half-asleep state with a mix of disdain and amusement.
"Granger!" her voice sliced through the silence. "You look dreadful. But lucky for you, I come bearing miracles!"
Hermione, still groggy, sat up and rubbed her eyes, watching as she marched to the foot of her bed and dumped the bags with theatrical aplomb. Before she could protest, a soft flick of her wand summoned a clothing rack into the room. It wheeled over obediently, draped with garments of every possible color and texture, each one more luxurious than the last. The sheer magnitude of it left Hermione blinking in bewilderment.
"I brought you a new wardrobe!" she declared, gesturing at the rack like a fairy godmother with a particularly sharp wand. "We're talking haute couture here, Granger. None of those frumpy, utilitarian rags you call clothes. We're transforming you into a new woman!"
Hermione opened her mouth, but her sleep-fogged brain could only manage a bewildered "What?"
She wasn't listening. With a flourish, she produced a box from one of her many bags and tossed it onto the bed. The lid popped open, revealing a collection of wigs that spanned the entire rainbow. Bright pink bobs, sleek platinum waves, voluminous curls—it was as if she had ransacked a costume shop. She nudged the box closer, grinning with satisfaction as Hermione stared.
"Go wild,"she urged. "Try them on, let loose. You're in a rut, and I am here to wrench you out of it."
Hermione looked from the wigs to her, who was beaming with the manic intensity of someone fully committed to their mission. "Pansy, I… I really don't think a makeover is going to—"
"Shush," she interrupted, waving a perfectly manicured hand. "You're obviously not thinking clearly. That's why I'm here."
She paused, and for a moment, the mask of relentless confidence slipped. Her expression softened, and she took a small, hesitant step closer. "Look, I know this won't fix everything," she said quietly, a surprising gentleness in her voice. "But sometimes… A small change can make you feel a little bit more in control. Remind you that not everything is spiraling out of reach."
The vulnerability in her tone caught Hermione off guard. She looked up at her, suddenly seeing past the polished exterior to the friend beneath it all. Pansy, for all her dramatics and unyielding sass, was here because she cared. And that thought, more than any wardrobe makeover, made something in Hermione's chest loosen.
Clearing her throat, she quickly regained her composure. "Anyway," she muttered, rummaging through another bag with feigned indifference. "Nevie thought you might need some extra company. Nonverbal company."
Out came a small, wrinkled pug with a face like it had smelled something offensive. With the utmost care, she placed the dog on Hermione's bed.
"Lady Lemongrass," she announced with a flourish. "She's hideous, but comforting. Kind of like a stress ball with legs."
Hermione watched as the pug toddled over, sniffed at her hand, and promptly curled up on her lap, its snub-nosed face resting on her thigh. A laugh bubbled up unbidden, soft and disbelieving, and a reluctant smile tugged at her lips as she stroked the dog's squishy face.
"Pansy," she murmured, shaking her head. "You really are full of surprises."
She smirked, a familiar gleam returning to her eyes. "Don't get all mushy on me, Granger. This is just my role in the grand scheme of things. Everyone has a part to play, and this one happens to be mine."
As Hermione was about to reply, the door creaked open again, revealing a sheepish-looking him. He stood in the doorway, looking slightly out of place amid the chaotic display of couture clothing and wigs. His hand clutched a small brown bag, and he offered her a tentative smile.
"'Mione," he said softly. "You look… well, more awake than the last time I saw you."
She let out a snort. "I must have looked really awful, then."
He chuckled, shuffling forward with a faint blush dusting his cheeks. "I, uh, brought you some calming herbs. For sleep, stress… you know."
She raised an eyebrow, giving him a pointed look. "Or," she interjected smoothly, "if you're feeling adventurous, there's… well, let's say I suggested an alternative herb."
Hermione's eyes widened as she caught his embarrassed expression. She couldn't help it; laughter spilled out, weak and raspy but genuine. The idea of him timidly suggesting weed was so absurdly out of character that it broke something inside her, letting warmth seep into the cracks.
"I think," she managed between giggles, wiping at her eyes, "I'll take both."
"Good choice, Granger," she approved, nodding with satisfaction.
As the laughter faded, a comfortable silence fell over the room. Lady Lemongrass snored softly on Hermione's lap, her tiny body rising and falling with each breath. He set the bag of pot on the nightstand, giving her a reassuring pat on the shoulder before retreating to the windowsill, where he began quietly fiddling with a plant, an anchor in the soft chaos of her company.
Pansy, however, lingered. Her arms crossed, she fixed Hermione with a searching gaze, one that softened as she took in the fragile expression on Hermione's face.
"Don't shut us out," she said softly, almost as if the words pained her to admit. "We're not going anywhere. Not until you're back on your feet."
Hermione swallowed, feeling a sudden rush of gratitude that made her chest ache. There, amidst all the ridiculous wigs, couture gowns, and squishy-faced pugs, was a strange, beautiful comfort. They were here—her friends, her chosen family. And in a world that felt uncertain and chaotic, that was something she could hold onto.
"I won't," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "Thank you. For everything."
She gave a brisk nod, her usual sharpness creeping back as if she couldn't bear the tenderness any longer. "Good. Now, try on that wig. It'll look smashing with your complexion."
Hermione let out a soft laugh, lifting the wig as her brow arched with smug approval.
"Oh, and don't worry," she added with a wink. "I've concocted a potion that'll have your hair grow back in a month, tops. My crowning achievement, if I do say so myself."
And as Hermione placed the absurd brown wig on her head, a deep warmth spread through her, a flicker of light in the midst of darkness, reminding her that maybe, just maybe, things would be alright.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The safehouse, once a place of tense recovery, had blossomed into a haven of unlikely camaraderie. Four families, bound by circumstance and a fierce love for Hermione, found a way to create a makeshift family of their own.
Laughter echoed through the halls, a stark contrast to the sterile silence that had once hung heavy. Pansy, surprisingly adept at deflecting worry with humor, kept everyone entertained with her cutting wit and outrageous stories. He brewed calming teas and concocted fantastical pain-relief salves (some more effective than others). Draco, his face etched with worry lines he hadn't known he possessed, would spend hours simply reading aloud to Hermione, his deep voice a soothing balm. Even her parents, their initial fear slowly melting into cautious hope, joined in the impromptu dance parties that erupted after particularly successful physiotherapy sessions.
Hermione, though her body remained fragile, reveled in the unexpected warmth. The shared meals, filled with laughter and whispered secrets, were a testament to the strength they found in their unity. Evenings were spent huddled around the fireplace, arguing playfully about the merits of pumpkin pasties versus treacle tart, or debating the best way to smoke the "medicinal herbs" he procured (much to Draco's initial disgust). The weed, though initially met with skepticism, proved to be a surprisingly effective muscle relaxant, leaving Hermione giggling uncontrollably as she attempted (and failed) to master the art of walking again.
These months, though tinged with the ever-present worry for Hermione's full recovery, were a time of unexpected connection. Amidst the chaos and uncertainty, they found solace in their shared purpose, forging a bond that transcended past prejudices and wartime allegiances.
She endured three harrowing brain surgeries and a grueling skull reconstruction surgery. Each procedure left her weaker, her once vibrant spirit dimmed by the relentless assault on her body. The sight of her fragile form, hooked up to machines, haunted those who loved her, a painful reminder of the fragility of life and the enduring strength required to fight for it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A bittersweet goodbye had ushered Hermione's parents out the door just a few moments ago. The safehouse, once filled with the sterile hum of recovery, now buzzed with a familiar, comforting energy.
She, still a little weak from her ordeal, leaned against Draco's shoulder at the head of the table. The "found family" was back, gathered to celebrate their reunion with a delicious spread prepared by Luna.
He nervously fussed over Pansy as she sputtered in mock outrage. Apparently, Lysander, in a fit of artistic exploration, had used the tablecloth as his canvas, leaving behind a trail of colorful "smudges" that resembled exploded fireworks.
Neville, bless his heart, was attempting to explain the medicinal properties of beetroot juice in stain removal while Pansy, with a theatrical flourish, declared the tablecloth "utterly ruined."
Across from them, Luna, eyes sparkling with amusement, simply patted Pansy's hand. "Don't worry, Pansy dear," she chirped, "a little charmwork and it'll be as good as new. Besides, the tablecloth looks rather… expressive now, wouldn't you say?"
Draco chuckled, a warm sound that filled the room. Hermione couldn't help but smile, her heart swelling with gratitude for this unlikely band of people who had become her chosen family. The past few months had been a rollercoaster, filled with pain and fear, but also moments of unexpected joy and unwavering support.
As Lysander, his face smeared with beetroot juice, proudly declared his artwork a masterpiece, she realized that this, right here, amidst the chaos and laughter, was where she belonged. It was a messy, imperfect, utterly wonderful life, and she wouldn't trade it for anything.