His expression softened marginally. “Well, this has been delightful. I cannot even remember how many times I've wished I could spend Christmas Eve getting lectured on how to read a diagnostic charm.” He smiled insincerely. Hermione said nothing. There was a pause, and then he added, “Per your request, here's a warning. I'm going to start teaching you hand-to-hand combat starting next week.”
Then he reached into his robes and pulled out a scroll of parchment. “My latest installment for Moody.” As she accepted it, he smirked at her. “I have to say, you've ended up being quite expensive, Granger.”
He vanished without a sound.
On Christmas Day, Hermione had the morning hospital shift. Angelina had been badly cursed during a raid in Muggle London the night before; she'd been hit in the knee with the acid curse, and while she was down, a Death Eater had added on an additional internal organ destroying curse. Fred had managed to grab hold of her and bring her back to Hermione before Angelina died in his arms.
The final repair work was too complex for Padma or Poppy.
Hermione sat in the quiet hospital ward and slowly reconstructed the tissue and tendons in Angelina's knee. “Alright, I need you to bend it, and see if the tissue formed properly. Regrowing bones for injuries like this doesn't always work properly.”
Angelina bit her lip. Her skin was grey from pain, but she moved her knee as requested.
“Ugggghh.” She gasped faintly and stopped. “Inside. It hurts inside — like it's grinding.”
Hermione cast a diagnostic and studied it. Due to the urgency of saving Angelina's organs, the acid curse had been overlooked for several minutes before being countered. It had destroyed most of the bones in Angelina's knee and left huge pockets of lost tissue. It was difficult to repair when there was so little of the original tissue left to build from. Hermione had initially feared she'd have to amputate it, but there was just enough intact after the bone regrowth for it to be healable.
“I see the problem. I'm going to stun you. You don't need to be awake for this part.”
Angelina nodded and closed her eyes.
It took nearly four hours before Hermione rennervated Angelina.
“Alright, try moving it again.”
Angelina lifted her leg and bent it slightly. “That's better. It twinges a little.” Her colour seemed much healthier.
“You'll need to stay off it for at least a month, but I think you'll be able to walk on it. It will hurt, particularly on cold days. You may limp a little. You'll always feel it. But you can still fight, if you want.”
“I'm not leaving the fight,” Angelina said firmly.
Hermione nodded, unsurprised, and began massaging a potion into Angelina's new skin. As Hermione worked, she became aware of Angelina's intense stare. Hermione glanced up and met her gaze. “What?”
Angelina tilted her head, still studying Hermione. “Sometimes I try to remember you from before the war, and I can't see that person anymore.”
Hermione's jaw tensed. She tried to restrict her advocacy for the Dark Arts to Order meetings, but her position had become known in the wider Resistance over time. Members of DA regularly took it upon themselves to evangelise to Hermione about the power of Good and the evil of the Dark Arts.
She could tell, by the expression on Angelina's face, that she was about to be subjected to a new lecture.
She forced her voice to stay even. “Who is it you thought I was then?”
“I don't know. Loud, forward, positive. Rather abrasive, to be honest. When you organised DA, you were a bit ruthless, but there was a honest sort of righteousness to it. Now, when you're not in healer-mode, you just seem ruthless. You're so quiet most of the time, but there's this rage around you that I feel sometimes. Like the war turned you into someone else. I feel like you let it.”
The corner of Hermione's mouth twitched, and she felt her eyes narrow. “War is a crucible. Do you think any of us will come out on the other side the same as we were?”
Angelina looked down at her knee and shrugged. “I'll carry scars inside and out, but deep down I'm always going to be the same person.” Angelina looked back at Hermione. “But I don't know if you're the same and I just never saw it, or if you've really changed that much. I feel like you've let go of yourself.”
Hermione's hands stilled, and she sat back. “Let go?”
Angelina shifted and looked uncomfortable. “I guess I'm worried about you. Fred said, when he was visiting George here, that it seemed like something happened to you. Like the last bits of the old you just — disappeared one day. And I've been watching you lately, all I see is this — I don't even know what it is. Sometimes I think it's rage. Other times I think it's despair. But it's as though you're lost in it.”
Hermione's mouth felt dry, and she swallowed repeatedly, buying herself time by recorking vials. She gripped the glass so hard her hands shook faintly.
“This war has eaten me, Angelina,” she finally said slowly.