“Wendell and Monica Wilkins, they live in Australia,” she answered, meeting his eyes steadily.
He slumped with relief and dragged her into his arms. She was crushed against his chest as he pulled her inside.
“Good Merlin, we thought we lost you. You weren't there when we woke up.”
“I–I was hemorrhaging. I couldn't wait. I had to find someone who could fix it,” she said by way of vague explanation.
Fred shook his head, his expression bewildered. “I don't understand; one minute we were fighting, and then suddenly we woke up, thrown all the way past the wards. My whole body feels like I was crushed by an erumpant. All the Death Eaters were dead. You were gone. Harry and Ron freaked and wanted to start a search.”
“Someone must have tried to use some dark curse that backfired,” Hermione said, pulling out her kit and handing Fred a restorative and a vial of pain relief.
“That's our best guess,” Fred said, knocking back the potions with a grimace. “Freakishly lucky. I can't believe how many of 'em there were. Ron's been chewing out Harry nonstop since we got here.”
He looked seriously at Hermione,
“His shoulder's pretty bad.”
Hermione nodded grimly. “I saw it happen.”
He gave her a long look. “That was your curse that saved him, wasn't it?”
She gave a short nod. “This close to a full moon, there weren't many options.”
“Well. You won't hear any complaints from me. After what happened to George, I say we kill the bastards. Harry's a bit freaked over it. But he was a right arse to ask you to walk into something like that your first time back into the field. I'm glad you weren't killed;I don't care what it took for you to manage it.” He rested a hand on her shoulder.
She nodded. “I've been advocating for lethal curses for years. If anyone was surprised that I used them, they haven't been paying attention.”
“Ron's in there. I'm knackered.” Fred swung a door open.
Ron sat in a bed. His shoulder had been sloppily bandaged. How so many Order members could be fighting for so many years without being able to perform basic emergency healing still baffled Hermione.
“Mione! You're alive.” Ron tried to climb out of bed and looked on the verge of tears as he saw her.
“I'm sorry,” she said as she hurried over and pushed him firmly back into the bed before removing the bandages with the wave of her wand. “I should have gotten back sooner.”
Harry gripped her shoulder, pulled her back and hugged her for a minute. “I'm so sorry. I thought they caught you. I looked through the bodies, and you weren't there. I'm so, so sorry. I never thought there'd be so many.”
Hermione pulled away. “I need to treat Ron, Harry.” Her voice was tight as she twisted free.
Ron's shoulder was mangled. The untransformed werewolf had bitten deep into the muscle of his shoulder, tearing huge swaths of flesh loose. The damage was severe.
Someone, presumably Remus, appeared to have dumped an entire container of powdered silver and dittany over the wound.
“Where did you go?” Harry asked, “We looked everywhere for you.”
“I got hurt,” she said, working to keep her voice low. She cleared away the blood, crusted powder and herbs to survey the extent of the injury. “I was bleeding out, and I needed someone with healing experience.”
She handed Ron a vial of pain relief potion. The moment after he swallowed, she cast cleansing charm over the area. He gave an agonized gasp.
Mouths were horribly dirty, especially one belonging to a werewolf with cannibalistic urges.
“Who?” Harry asked.
“A third-party Moody put me in contact with,” she said without looking up.
“Bastards,” Ron muttered, wincing as Hermione crushed up Wolfsbane into a poultice and spread it into the deepest tears in his shoulder. “Anyone who stays neutral in this war is a coward. What do they think will happen if we lose? I wouldn't trust them.”
“Not everyone is cut out to fight, Ron,” she said quietly, feeling obliged to defend the fictitious healer.
“I know it. I've been reminding Harry.” Ron gave Harry a hard look which Harry returned obstinately.
“We all got out, didn't we?” Harry retorted, dropping into a chair next to the bed. “Probably wouldn't have if Hermione hadn't fixed you up before we went back out.”
“The Order needs Hermione more as a healer than you needed her for your suicidal rescue idea,” Ron said between clenched teeth. “Moody and Kingsley will say the same as soon as they hear what you did.”
Hermione pulled the Wolfsbane poultice away and used the tip of her wand to siphon away all the poison that had been pulled up. Then she sprinkled another thick layer of powdered silver and dittany across the wound and set to wrapping it.
Her arm was shaking from exhaustion as she tried to wrap the gauze firmly with one hand.
After failing again on her fifth try, she stepped back and rummaged for a strengthening draught which she struggled to unstopper with one hand. Finally she pulled the cork out with her teeth, spat it onto the table, and drank the potion.
The trembling in her hand eased.