Chapter 35

Hermione didn’t seem to mind. She sat down in the armchair across from them and said quietly,

“I’m going out at noon.”

“Alright—” Ron blurted out automatically, but then froze mid-sentence. “Wait, what? Sorry, I didn’t catch that. You’re going where?”

Harry looked instantly awkward. When his gaze landed on the book Ron was holding upside down, his expression became even more embarrassed.

“Oh, stop pretending.” Hermione waved a hand dismissively and nodded toward Ron’s book. “You both heard everything.”

Ron glanced down, realized his mistake, and gave a sheepish grin as he set the book aside.

“We’re just worried about you, that’s all.”

“Yeah,” Harry added quickly. “If you want to go, go. Tell Anne we said hi.”

“Mm.” Hermione nodded, her eyes drifting to the stack of documents on the table. Harry and Ron had spent the entire week organizing anything remotely useful. “Thank you, both of you.”

“Hey, come on,” Ron said, his ears turning pink. “You’ve helped us more times than we can count.”

Lunch that day was unusually good, the best they’d had in over a week.
No instant noodles, and no one added too much salt this time.
Of course, neither Harry nor Ron dared to comment on that fact.

At 12:25, Hermione slipped out the door under the invisibility cloak.

Dobby arrived right on time.

When Hermione’s voice called softly from beneath the cloak, the little elf practically bounced with excitement.

“This is an S-Class side mission! Oh, Dobby is brilliant!“

Despite his chatter, Dobby executed his task flawlessly, Apparating Hermione straight into the living room of the hidden safehouse. Orlens stood there, wand in hand.

The moment they materialized, Hermione threw back the invisibility cloak. She immediately recognized the man in the armchair.

“Mr. Orlens, hello. I’m Hermione Granger.”

Orlens tucked away his wand and regarded her with a calm, measured look.

“As the healer here, I should remind you, the patient only woke up early this morning. Her condition is still very fragile. You have twenty minutes to visit.”

“Dobby’s mission is also to bring Miss Granger back after exactly twenty minutes!” Dobby chirped, his ears flapping happily.

“Thank you,” Hermione said politely before hurrying toward the infirmary door.

Watching her go, Orlens murmured to himself,

“Ah, youth… love in wartime.”

Hermione paused with her hand on the doorknob, took a deep breath, and opened it.

Inside was a single hospital bed, covered in a cheery sheet with little suns printed on it.

Anne wasn’t wearing a hospital gown but an oversized T-shirt.

Bandages wrapped around her forehead and left cheek; she looked pale, but alert.

She was reading a newspaper, and when she heard the door open, she looked up.

The moment her eyes met Hermione’s, she smiled.

“Good afternoon, Hermione,” Anne said softly, setting the paper aside and nodding toward the chair by her bed. “Standing there’s exhausting. Sit.”

Hermione’s eyes immediately reddened.

She shut the door behind her and crossed the room in quick steps, but once she reached the bedside, she froze.

For over a week, this woman had been haunting her mind every hour of every day.

Now, seeing her in person, Hermione didn’t even know what to do, what to say.

“Cough, cough—” Anne pressed a hand to her ribs as a soft cough shook her.

“Anne…” Hermione’s voice trembled with worry.

“I’m fine.” Anne steadied herself, then smiled faintly and beckoned Hermione closer.

Hermione obeyed.

With a spark of warmth in her right eye, Anne reached up, slipped an arm around Hermione’s neck, and pulled her down into a kiss.

Hermione responded instinctively, deepening it, her eyes brimming with tears.

The woman felt real, solid, alive. Not the fading echo from her memory.

When the kiss finally broke and Anne drew in a shaky breath, she teased lightly,

“Cough, it seems my lung capacity’s gone downhill.”

Hermione let out a strangled laugh through her tears, half hurt, half helpless.

Anne wiped away a tear from her cheek and said gently,

“Everything I promised you, I remember. I won’t forget. Ever. So don’t be afraid.”

Hermione sniffled hard to keep the rest of her tears from falling. She nodded, straightened up, rubbed at her eyes, and sat down beside the bed.

“Anne… what really happened?” she asked quietly.

Anne leaned back slightly, one hand still on her ribs.

“I’ll know the full report tonight, maybe,” she admitted after a small cough.

“I heard on the broadcast,” Hermione said, “that the Order’s location was leaked through a Portkey. They said the traitor’s dead.”

“Portkey?” Anne frowned faintly. “That explains it…”

“Forget it for now,” Hermione interrupted softly. “Aaron will tell you everything tonight anyway.”

She reached over, picked up the newspaper from the blanket, and glanced at the front page.

The headline read: Illegal Organization ‘Order of the Phoenix’ Destroyed, Leader Confirmed Dead.

Below it was a large photograph of the outer headquarters burning in flames.

Fire flickered in Hermione’s eyes.

“Hermione,” Anne said gently, “page six has a short story column. Read me one of those instead, will you?”

Hermione turned the paper roughly, scanning page two first,

‘The Order of the Phoenix: a front for trafficking Muggle-born witches and wizards.’

She looked up at Anne, her lips pressed tight.

Anne coughed softly, then said, “You know what The Daily Prophet is like…”

Hermione exhaled through her nose, saying nothing, and flipped straight to page six.

That section was where hobbyist writers published their little fables and serials, Hermione normally skipped it.

But today… fine. She doubted the rest of the paper had any truth left in it.

“Which one do you want to hear?” she asked.

“Any. You pick,” Anne murmured, her eyes drooping slightly.

“Are you tired? Want to lie down? I can read to you while you rest,” Hermione said gently.

“Okay,” Anne replied, her voice soft as silk.

Hermione helped her recline carefully and adjusted the pillow until Anne was comfortable.

As Anne settled in, her right hand slipped from under the blanket to find Hermione’s.

Their fingers intertwined tightly.

Sitting on the stool beside her, Hermione began to read a whimsical story about a young witch and a mischievous cauldron.

Anne watched her for a while, eyelids fluttering, then slowly drifted off to sleep.

Hermione continued reading, slower and softer, pausing now and then to glance at Anne.

When she finally realized Anne’s breathing had become steady and calm, she fell silent.

She simply watched her sleep.

A knock sounded at the door.

Startled from her quiet reverie, Hermione gently slid her hand free from Anne’s and rose, folding the newspaper under her arm.

She tiptoed to the door and slipped outside.

“She’s asleep,” Hermione said softly.

“At this hour?” Orlens checked his watch and nodded. “Good. Her medicine can wait a bit. You should head back.”

Hermione gestured for Dobby to wait a moment, then turned back to Orlens with sincerity.

“Mr. Orlens… may I ask about her injuries?”

He hesitated for a few seconds, then nodded. “Let’s talk in the kitchen.”

Hermione gave Dobby a reassuring look, telling him to wait, and followed Orlens inside.

⚡︎━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ❖ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━⚡︎

Over the next five days, Hermione came to the safehouse every noon to see Anne.

Her visiting time gradually stretched from twenty minutes to forty.

In the last three days, she began bringing porridge with her, Anne could finally eat again, slowly, spoon by spoon.

⚡︎━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ❖ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━⚡︎

Note: Oh, and by the way, Dobby still doesn’t know that “Skoll” is actually Anne.