the_debt_of_time

"What happened to me?" Hermione was finally able to ask, now that she knew Harry and her
friends were safe.
"Not sure." He cleared his throat. "You were hit with a powerful curse. Neville and Harry
mentioned that the Death Eater who threw it had been silenced. We think you survived because of it."
The words sounded painful to him as he spoke them, and Hermione could not help but feel guilty
for it. She wondered if he felt embarrassed by her actions. He had been the best Defence Professor she'd ever
had, and somehow she allowed herself to get cursed.
"Can I see it?" Hermione asked and waited for him to reply, but he did not speak.
About a minute later, he wordlessly lit the end of his wand and handed it to her. Hermione stared
at the wand, wondering if a professor—or any adult ever—had so willingly just handed over their wand to
her. A wand was something sacred to a witch or wizard; their wands chose them. Staring at Lupin's wand
so willingly held out to her, trustingly held out to her, she delicately took it and tried to smile at him, but
noticed that his face was turned away from her. She realised that he had looked away to afford her some
privacy as she was not properly dressed aside from bandages that wrapped around her chest all the way
down her ribs.
She winced as she reached the bottom of the bandages, pulling at them lightly so that she could see
the scar that had been left behind. She frowned at the sight of the thin purple line that—deeply—dissected
her torso, surrounded by paling yellow bruises. Her breath caught, and she whimpered at the sight of her
disfigurement, proof that she had not been quick enough, strong enough, or powerful enough.
"They're just scars, Hermione." Lupin cleared his throat again, but didn't turn to look at her.
"'Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.'"
Hermione smiled sadly. "That's beautiful."
"Khalil Gibran," he mumbled. "Poet."
"Wizard?"
Lupin took in a shaky breath. "Muggle."
"Professor, is there something you're not telling me?" Hermione inquired as she put her bandages
back and pulled the bed sheet up around her chest. At her words, his shoulders began to shake, and she
frowned at the sight of the strong man crying. She felt helpless as he sobbed quietly, his back to her. It was
inappropriate, but she leant forward to pat his back consolingly.
He stiffened under her touch. "Sirius is dead."