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The starch white of hospital sheets burned her eyes and the overpowering stench of antiseptic filled her nose until she couldn't take it anymore. Hermione burrowed beneath the scratchy blanket and pulled what was left of her hair around her face to breathe in the lingering scent of the forest deep into her lungs. Her hands fisted around chunky cut curls like a safety blanket, and she could feel a thin trickle of blood on her chin from her too-dry lips as it dried rapidly in the arid room.
Where is Harry? Where is Ron? She vaguely remembered watching Ron walk away from them, the crack of his Apparition, and the way the walls of protection fell as his departure broke through their enchantments. Were there Snatchers? Did the Order find them?
She couldn't remember.
A warm hand rested against her shoulder while another smoothed along the bandages around her head. Hermione lay still on her side, remembering the same hands from before testing how her injuries were healing. The back of her mind told her this was a wizard Healer, because of the bright green robes. Each time she tried to speak, to ask a question of this man she couldn't quite see each time he came to check on her, but the words died on her tongue she grew more frustrated. Frustration led to agitated thrashing which lead to sedation which lead to shallow gasps for air and silent tears when her limbs wouldn't respond.
There was no telling how long she'd been in the room, or if she'd truly fallen asleep, when a different warm hand held her own. The light wasn't as stifling anymore, the dimness reminding her of the forest the last time she'd seen Ron or Harry, but when she started to push and pull at the sheets around her body, that warm hand squeezed to still her.
"Shhh," a man's voice soothed. He sounded as if he'd been sleeping or crying. Both? "Don't move, Hermione."
Her head flipped over to face the person next to her bed instead of the drawn curtains over the window. She knew that she should recognize this man, with the scars over his face and dusty blonde hair.
"Who are you?" she asked, the words slow leaving her mouth, each syllable sinking its fingers into her tongue on the way down.
The man sighed, and his thumb started to rub back and forth on her palm. If she could muster the strength to move she'd pull her hand away from his.
"My name is Remus Lupin. I was your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts in your third year."
"Where's Harry?" She tried to cover her confusion over the softly spoken information with another question, the one that burned in her mind so hot she was surprised embers weren't falling out of the back of her head.
The man named Remus Lupin cocked his head to the side for a moment. "Safe. Ron's safe, too. You all are."
"I don't feel safe."
"I imagine you don't," Remus said, removing his hand from hers. He drew a small vial from his breast pocket, bright blue light shining from within illuminating his face and throwing the scars into sharp relief. A small voice told her self inflicted before he spoke again. "You had me extract several of your memories, important ones, before you left Grimmauld Place several months ago. I came to give them back to you. Are you ready?"
She swallowed, eyes glued to the vial in front of her. "I don't think I have another choice."
With solemnity, Remus uncorked the vial and tipped it towards her, cradling the back of her head with his hand while being cautious of the bandages around it. The light dripped like watery starlight towards her face and instinct told her to keep her eyes open wide. The first touch of the cool memories made her lids flutter but she resisted the urge to blink. After holding her breath the entire course of the memories returning to her, Hermione gasped for air once the last drop resettled itself inside of her mind, filling the blank spaces she didn't know she'd been poking at, like her tongue unable to avoid a wound inside of her mouth.
"We won," she said, tears streaming down her face as she remembered who she was, and what she'd become to save them all. The gaps in her memory filled with the scent of the forest more keenly than what remained in her destroyed hair, the feeling of claws forcing their way into her skin, and the way it felt to bay at the moon without the haze of Wolfsbane. As the girl who'd forgotten nearly everything, even her own name, attempted to collect what was left of her psyche after extensive damage from war and carnage and werewolf venom, Remus stayed and held her hand through it all. Even when she fell asleep, he stayed, watching over the newest member to his Pack.