“Fine,” Tonks said. “Tell me how injured you were then. I'm assuming that's not classified.”
Hermione couldn't think of any reason to lie.
“I got stabbed. In the lung. It nicked my liver too. It's repaired now.”
“Shit! That doesn't mean you should be standing. You know better than me that just because Muggle injuries can be fixed fast doesn't mean they don't take a huge toll physically. You should be in a bed, and we should be coming to you,” Tonks hissed.
“If I told anyone, it would raise questions l can't answer,” Hermione said steadily. “It'll be fine. I'll just need a lot of sleep once I finish. I only need to see Harry. Then I'll rest.”
“Alright,” Tonks stepped back and let her go, but her eyes were still suspicious and concerned.
As soon as Hermione got out of the room, she leaned against the wall. She tried to gather any reserves she had left before going to find Harry.
He was on the roof, staring out over the pond below while he smoked. There were dozens of cigarette butts scattered around him.
He noticed her but didn't make any move to come to her.
She climbed out of the window awkwardly with only one arm to support her. She almost lost her balance but caught herself determinedly. If she fell off the roof in her current condition, she might die. She steeled herself and made her way to Harry, trying not to look down.
“What happened to us, Hermione?” he asked when she got close.
“A war,” she said, reaching out and turning his face toward her. There was a gash on his head. His pale skin was faintly red from the blood he'd washed off. His expression was sad, tired, and angry.
“Who changed? Was it you or me?” he asked as she laced her fingers through his hair and pushed it aside so she could close the wound.
“Me,” she admitted.
“Why? Do you think I won't be able to do it?” he said. “Are you trying to brace yourself that I'll fail?”
She cast a diagnostic charm on him. He had two fractured ribs and bruising on his abdomen. She pushed him back so he'd lay down before she started healing him.
“I think you can do it. But — the prophecy. It's a coin toss. After Dumbledore died—,” she faltered slightly.
“Death is just one curse away from us all,” she said after a moment. “I can't just sit back and watch, waiting for fifty-fifty odds to land and assume I know the outcome. Not when there are so many people depending on us. What you have, the way you love people... it's pure, it's powerful. But — how many times have you killed Tom now? As a baby, because of your mother. In first and second year. But he's still here. He's still fighting you. I don't want to assume anything is enough.”
“You don't think Good can just win,” Harry said. The reproach in his voice was heavy.
“Everyone who wins say they were good, but they're the ones who write the history. I haven't seen anything indicating that it was actually moral superiority that made a difference,” she said as she murmured the spells to repair the fractures.
“You're talking about Muggle history though. Magic is different. The magical world is different,” Harry said fiercely.
Hermione shook her head, and Harry's expression grew bitter. He looked up at the sky. Hermione began spreading a bruise paste over Harry's stomach and ribs in small circular motions.
“You used to be different,” Harry said, “You used to be more righteous about things than me. What happened to S.P.E.W? That girl would never have said Dark Magic was worth the cost. What happened?”
“That girl died in a hospital ward trying to save Colin Creevey.”
“I was there when Colin died too, Hermione. And I didn't change.”
“I was always willing to do whatever it took, Harry. All those adventures of ours in school. Once I was in, I was in. Maybe you just never noticed how far I was willing to go for you.”
“Not for me.” Harry said, shaking his head. “You don't get to tell yourself you're doing this for me. I would never ask it of you.”
“I know,” she said, looking away. “This isn't for you. It's for everyone else. You have to do what you need to to win. So do I.”
“You're pushing yourself away,” Harry said in a hard voice as he sat up. “Maybe you don't think I see it, but I do. I just don't understand why. You were like my sister. But now — it's like every time there's a crack in our friendship, you walk up and drive a wedge into it. I don't understand — why are you doing that?”
He sounded on the verge of tears. His eyes were so hurt and angry as he stared at her. She felt herself waver.
If she admitted it now, maybe it would fix things. Maybe there was still a chance. The space Ginny had filled and concealed — he was realising it, feeling how far away Hermione had moved.
Her first friend. Her best friend. He was reaching out for her. If she reached back—
She stared sadly at him. “Those cracks were always there, Harry. The person I am, she was always there. The war is just making you see her.”
His face shuttered.
“Alright then.” He stood up and went back into the house.