It took Hermione several minutes after she opened her heavy eyelids for her foggy consciousness to fully realize that she was still alive.

Everything in front of her was shrouded in a wavering, misty light sprinkled with shadows that shifted and blended together, making it impossible to distinguish shapes or see anything clearly.

She was so weak that even the simplest act of turning her head was entirely beyond her capabilities. Her neck muscles refused to respond to her desperate mental commands, leaving her staring ahead like a doll.

The sounds filtering into her ears were distorted and indistinct, resembling the underwater buzzing one might hear when submerged in a bathtub. Despite her eagerness to identify the three shadowy figures standing beside her bed and to figure out what they were saying to her and to each other, she lacked even the most basic strength required to focus her attention or process their words.

Hermione lay motionless on the hospital bed, as she stared at the fascinating rotating crystal bubbles below the ceiling that provided lighting for the hospital room.

She had never encountered these enchanting light-emitting bubbles before, which confirmed what her instincts were already telling her—she was definitely not in her familiar Hogwarts dormitory, nor in Madam Pomfrey’s school infirmary. She was now in a completely unfamiliar place.

‘How did I come here, and why was I here?’

Hermione knew absolutely nothing about any of this. Her memory ended abruptly with the image of Professor Watson appearing by her side, telling her not to worry, and that he could save her life.

Thinking of this, Hermione felt her weakened heart give one strong beat, and a warm current flowed from her heart, quickly spreading throughout her body. This unexpected rush of warmth seemed to accelerate her recovery process; Hermione felt the blurry white light clouding her vision receding more quickly, and the dreamlike sounds around her ears becoming clearer.

Among the three people standing by her bed, one seemed eager to help her sit up, but another person firmly slapped the back of the would-be helper’s hand and scolded them severely.

‘Was that… Professor McGonagall?

I remember now, at least partially.’

Hermione moved her dry lips, wanting to say this, but all that came out was a very faint gurgling sound.

Next, many people wearing dark robes rushed into the narrow room and they abruptly drove away all three of her visitors from her bedside. Then, these newcomers efficiently removed the thin covers from her body, and unbuttoned her hospital clothing.

An intense feeling of shame washed over Hermione. She closed her eyes tightly to avoid seeing this embarrassing scene, but the physical sensation of her skin being touched became even clearer in the darkness behind her eyelids.

The embarrassment somehow acted as a catalyst, hastening the recovery of her bodily control; Hermione’s toes, still hidden beneath the remaining bedding at her feet, curled up.

It was not until half an hour later that the three people waiting outside were allowed back in.

“—She should get out of bed and walk around daily, as regular movement will help maintain her vital energy and prevent muscular atrophy, but the duration should not exceed more than half an hour at any given session, as she is weakened and still vulnerable to relapse—”

The senior St. Mungo’s Healer was solemnly instructing Tonks and Sirius.

“Additionally, her right arm probably won’t respond properly to neural commands right now due to the specific nature of the curse damage sustained; you’ll need to be particularly mindful of this limitation during her recovery period. Support her from the left side when assisting with mobility—”

Then, with a final glance at their patient and a curt nod to her visitors, the Healer and his attendant nursing staff efficiently withdrew from her bedside.

In this continuously busy hospital, countless other patients on the brink of death or suffering from bizarre magical maladies were urgently waiting for treatment.

“Sirius—” Hermione called softly.

“Oh, you’re finally awake—” Sirius exclaimed in relief.

Sirius concealed his worry and heavy heart as he forced his face into a reassuring smile. He walked to the bedside, and sat down carefully on the edge of the mattress.

“I bet you don’t know exactly where you are at the moment—” He continued, “This is St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, the finest magical medical facility in Britain. Honestly, I’ve been here far too many times over the years as both patient and visitor—occupational hazard of being an Auror, I’m afraid—but this must be your very first time, isn’t it?”

Hermione’s back was now propped against several thick, surprisingly soft pillows that had been carefully arranged to support her in a semi-reclined position that allowed her to see her visitors without straining her neck muscles.

Although she had already guessed her location based on context clues, she still nodded slightly.

“How long have I been unconscious, Sirius?” She asked, dreading the answer.

“About twenty hours or perhaps slightly less—”

It was the young woman who answered this question instead of Sirius. Seeing Hermione looking at her somewhat nervously, uncertain of this stranger’s identity and role, Tonks gave a light, reassuring smile.

“Hello there, Hermione. I’m Nymphadora Tonks, but if you value your continued well-being, you should call me just Tonks—” She introduced herself with a wink.

“Tonks is an Auror from the Ministry’s elite division. She’s my partner now, and we’ve both been specifically assigned here to ensure your safety and security—” Sirius explained further.

Hearing that this lively young woman was actually sent by the Ministry of Magic with the sole purpose of protecting her, Hermione felt a complex mixture of gratitude and increasing anxiety flutter in her stomach.

Did this level of security mean she was still in immediate danger? Was there an ongoing threat to her life even within St. Mungo’s? Nevertheless, pushing these disturbing thoughts aside temporarily, she gratefully nodded to this approachable young Auror.

“Thank you so much for watching over me—” Hermione said with genuine appreciation.

“Congratulations on surviving, Hermione—” Said the tall, elderly lady standing rigidly next to Tonks.

This was a stern-looking elderly witch, dressed in a green robe with a moth-eaten fox fur wrap draped around her shoulders. Her most distinctive feature, however, was her pointed hat, which was clearly and somewhat bizarrely decorated with what appeared to be a complete stuffed vulture specimen.

This outlandish, memorable outfit stirred something in Hermione’s memory; she felt certain she had encountered or heard about it somewhere before, but affected by her injuries and the potions coursing through her system, her typically sharp mind wasn’t functioning with its usual precision.

“Oh, thank you too, ma’am—”

Hermione, leaning weakly back against her supportive pillows, nodded with difficulty to the imposing elderly witch. She guessed this woman might be a high-ranking Ministry official, perhaps Sirius and Tonks’s departmental superior, and she felt vaguely familiar with her because it seemed she had seen her photograph in the Daily Prophet.

Just as Hermione was hesitating whether it would be appropriate or perhaps impolite to directly ask the elderly lady’s name and position, Sirius, noting her confusion and uncertainty, explained with a gentle smile:

“This lady is Madam Augusta Longbottom, Neville’s grandmother—”

“Thank you for the introduction, Sirius—”

Mrs. Longbottom said to Sirius with a slight incline of her head.

“I was just about to introduce myself properly to Miss Granger—” She added.

The moment she heard the name ‘Longbottom’ spoken aloud, two separate thoughts flashed through Hermione’s mind.

First, she instantly understood why the elderly lady’s distinctive outfit had seemed so familiar. She had indeed seen it before during Professor Lupin’s Defense Against the Dark Arts class last year when he was teaching them practical methods to deal with a Boggart. When confronting Neville, the Boggart had transformed into the figure of Professor Snape wearing this exact same outlandish outfit.

But the second realization that closely followed was much more disturbing!

“Mrs. Longbottom?” Hermione’s already weak face paled further as a terrible possibility appeared in her mind. “What about Neville? Is he alright?”

“Oh, don’t worry, Hermione—” Sirius immediately rushed to reassure her. “Neville hasn’t been attacked or harmed in any way. Augusta is here at St. Mungo’s to take care of… um, well…”

He faltered awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable with whatever explanation he was attempting to provide. “By the way, Harry and Ron are also completely fine and unharmed—” He added hastily, changing the subject with obvious relief.

“There’s absolutely nothing that can’t be spoken of openly, Sirius—”

Mrs. Longbottom looked disapprovingly at Sirius’s evasiveness. She said in a resolute tone:

“I’m regularly at the hospital looking after my son and daughter-in-law who are long-term patients here. I heard from the attending Healers that you were unexpectedly brought here too, so naturally I came to see you personally.

Neville has told me quite a bit about you in his letters home… helping him through some difficult times and standing up for him. Oh yes, I understand now upon meeting you; you truly are the kind-hearted and intelligent girl Neville has described in his letters—”

Hermione quietly thanked her again for the surprisingly warm compliment, genuinely touched that Neville had spoken well of her to his grandmother, but she was thinking.

If Mrs. Longbottom was here taking care of her son and daughter-in-law as long-term patients, weren’t those Neville’s parents? But Neville had never mentioned his parents being hospitalized during all their years at Hogwarts together.

“Neville hasn’t told you anything about his parents’ condition?”

Mrs. Longbottom’s sharp gaze seemed to detect the confused thoughts swirling behind Hermione’s eyes, and she frowned deeply.

Sirius and Tonks both instantly had solemn, knowing expressions but tactfully remained silent, clearly choosing not to interject themselves into what was obviously a private family matter.

Hermione was certain that Neville had never once mentioned anything about his parents’ medical situation to her during their many conversations, nor probably to Harry or Ron or any of their other classmates, but judging by Mrs. Longbottom’s disapproving tone and the reaction of Sirius and Tonks, there seemed to be something greatly significant behind this.

“Oh, I absolutely must write to Neville immediately and question him about this!” Mrs. Longbottom said angrily.

“Hmph! It is nothing to be ashamed of! Quite the contrary—he should be immensely proud of their sacrifice and legacy every single day of his life. His parents sacrificed their sanity and health fighting for a better world, not for their only son to feel embarrassed about their condition or to hide their heroism from his friends!”

Then, looking directly at Hermione with unmistakable fierce pride shining in her eyes, Mrs. Longbottom continued:

“My son Frank and his wife Alice were also Aurors, highly respected throughout the entire wizarding world because they bravely stood up against You-Know-Who during his reign of terror when many others fled or compromised, and then—”

“Mrs. Longbottom! Please come quickly!”

At that precise moment, a nervous-looking nurse rushed frantically into the room, interrupting the solemn narrative. Looking anxious and out of breath, she spotted Mrs. Longbottom by Hermione’s bedside, and immediately approached her cutting short what Mrs. Longbottom was about to say, and urgently grabbed her arm pulling her toward the door.

“Quickly, Mrs. Longbottom, Alice has unexpectedly woken up and is frantically looking everywhere for you. She’s crying in fear and won’t allow anyone else near her bed, not even the Healers!”

Mrs. Longbottom was dragged away before she could even properly say goodbye. Watching her hasty departure through the doorway, both Sirius and Tonks wore expressions of sadness and deep compassion.

“What’s truly going on with Neville’s parents?”

Hermione, able to move only her left arm with great effort, struggled to prop up her gradually sliding body against the pillows and asked dizzily,

“Oh—” Sirius pursed his lips tightly, clearly struggling with how much to reveal of another family’s painful history.

After a moment of internal pondering, he sighed deeply and continued:

“Well, since Augusta was willing to tell you… Her son and daughter-in-law—Neville’s parents—were brutally tortured into insanity by a group of fanatical Death Eaters, using the unforgivable Cruciatus Curse repeatedly over many hours—”

Sirius said with a gloomy expression as Hermione looked on in absolute shock and horror.

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