→ we're older now, the light is dim, and you are only just beginning.

[leviohhhhsa]

Who: Hermione Granger, open
What: General horrors. Feel free to meet her in a safehouse, in the middle of monster-fighting or healing, hiding out somewhere, anything. She put out an open offer of help on the network; your character is welcome to take advantage of that.
Where: Everywhere.
When: All throughout the plot, really.
Notes: I will edit in locations once I know them for specific threads. I might put openers down below, but you're welcome to jump in with absolutely anything you might have in mind!
Warnings: Mentions of death, injury, horrors, war, PTSD. Angst.

For the first time since she was thrown into Baedal, Hermione feels purposeful. And she’s not going to analyse that, she refuses, in fact, to analyse that, because there are far too many other things she needs to be doing. She needs to keep her eyes on her surroundings, for one thing.

She knows she can help, that’s the thing, and that’s good enough for her. It’s not a choice, not really- it’s never felt like a choice, doing this sort of ridiculous thing, leaving home or a place passably close to home for the sake of being, well, heroic- it’s just the sort of thing you have to do in these situations. It’s what’s right.

Truth be told, when the war was going on she'd resigned herself, very practically and quite sensibly, in her opinion, to the fact that she wasn't going to live beyond eighteen. No one alters' their parents' memories and sends them to Australia if they think they're coming back, do they? No. She'd been expecting to die. Getting herself out of that mindset had been the real trouble- and now she can feel herself slipping back into it, which isn't at all healthy, but (God help her) it gets the job done.

She Apparates sparingly- partly because she has no idea what could be lurking in any of her intended destinations, and partly because the whole point of leaving her flat was to help people, and she can’t do that if she just vanishes and reappears in place to place. No, she has to go looking.

Not that she has to look hard. The city's overrun. There are certain areas which are worse than others- she tries to get a good look everywhere at first, which is how she learns very quickly that Apparating into an area blind is a bad idea- but aside from the safehouses that keep cropping up, nowhere's really dependable. Even those safehouses aren't invincible. There are stories about them being broken into- but the ones she trusts, where she takes people and takes a bit of shelter herself, seem to be alright. She doesn't use her flat much- it's safe, but it's also empty, and she hates sitting in the quiet while the monsters lurk outside.

Anyway, she doesn't know where Crookshanks is, and she doesn't want to think about that.

It’s hard and it’s horrible, but she’s quite glad of that. If it were easy to do and to get over, she wouldn’t feel quite human. It’s already too easy for her to function in these situations, to the extent that she wonders what happened to her life, what happened to all the plans she had before she turned eleven and got that letter, what happened to her, of all people, bookish and prissy and responsible as she is- but, again, she can’t wonder for long, because her life as it is now rather demands her whole attention. Still, she has to stop sometimes- Steph didn't quite succeed in making her promise to take a break, but her words have stuck in Hermione's brain, and she does have to eat and sleep and look after the injuries she herself sustains. When she stops moving, that's when it gets dangerous- that's when she has to wonder what she's thinking, why she's so convinced that she, an uppity bookworm with dreadful hair, can possibly do enough. And that's when she has to wonder why her. And that's when she has to get up again and just do something, anything, before she starts wallowing in self pity or thinking things that begin with what if or crying or doing something else that's stupid and unproductive.

She’s never done quite so much healing magic, not even when there was a war on. This time around that’s often the best help she can provide- that and Apparating people away from the direst situations. She’s good in a fight, but some of the things that prowl Baedal now can’t be fought, or not by her at least, and there’s no shame in grabbing somebody and leaving.

The good thing is that at least while Hermione's on her feet and acting, she's never been freer of her homesickness.

Comments

[leviohhhhsa]

"For the pain?" Hermione takes a deep breath, tries to work out whether that's a good idea or not, whether you're supposed to let someone sleep- but that's concussion. Isn't it?

Come on, you've read about this!

"Just a moment," she says, more confidently than she feels; she has to get him to swallow this next potion as well, after all, tipping chin up and trying to make it as easy as possible. "I promise this one's easier to take," she says to the injured man, and then to both of them- "Please. If that's-" She glances down at the man, but he's in no position to make decisions, twisting and gasping from the pain. She looks to Wolfgang again, resealing a vial, her face drawn. "Yes. Do it."

[gramarye]

The pause there is because he has to think about how to do this. It can sometimes be enough for him to just wish things to happen, but his magic is unpredictable and he wants something more solid, something that it can't misinterpret. After a moment he leans over and makes sure the injured man is looking directly at him, holding his face still. What he finally says is not in English, and he doesn't intend to be understood by anyone, so it's not translated; it could be anything.

It's not that interesting, anyway, it is not actually a spell, just the focus for one. A nursery rhyme is the most natural focus he can think of for this -- it makes it easy to wrap the magic around it if they relate to each other in some way. Sleep is an easy impulse, particularly considering how exhausted the man was already, but he's in a lot of pain and it takes a while to get past that.

Finally, though, he's still, eyes closed, breathing even rather than laboured.

He leans back then, face drawn from concern rather than effort. "Is he... you think he's going to be okay?"