Hermione was sitting in the quiet, sterile expanse of Hospital Wing, her chair pulled up tightly next to the crisp white sheets of the bed. Her face was heavily stained with tracks of old tears, but her eyes had dried a while ago. She felt entirely hollowed out, utterly unable to shed any more. She stared blankly at the person lying motionless in the bed, 'wand' beside him that had materialised on it's own after he was laid there.
The boy that entire school was currently calling a hero.
Well, not exactly everyone. Some of them were loudly calling him a 'cold-blooded murderer,' namely Percy Weasley and a vast majority of the Slytherins. They maintained their venomous whispers even after Professor Dumbledore had stood before the Great Hall to explain exactly what had transpired.
"It has come to our attention that the Merpeople betrayed the act of trust imposed upon them to return the Hostages... and instead were intent on taking Miss Delacour's sister and not returning her safely," Dumbledore had announced, his voice carrying a heavy, uncharacteristic weight through the enchanted room. "But due to Mister Morningstar's heroics, she was brought back safely. Fortunately, his wounds are getting healed by his core's magic, including nothing Madam Pomfrey can't handle with proper time." He spoke calmly, but with an ironclad clarity that brooked no argument.
"Mister Morningstar was indeed the one to attack first, which the MerChieftan was sure to let me know," Dumbledore had continued, looking over the sea of whispering students. "But this was, of course, because the Merpeople were fiercely reluctant to hand over the Hostage. So Mister Morningstar, upon seeing this hostile stance, chose to act decisively, and saved Miss Delacour's hostage."
Hermione looked down at Lucifer's sleeping figure, watching the steady, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest beneath the thin hospital blanket. He had acted completely stupidly, she thought bitterly, her chest tightening with a familiar, aching panic. But she knew that if it weren't for his terrifying intervention, little Gabrielle wouldn't have been returned at all.
She couldn't truly fault him for that. He was, after all, the only boy she had ever truly loved.
The heavy oak doors to the Hospital Wing suddenly swung open with a quiet groan. Hermione looked up quickly, wiping her cheeks as Dumbledore, McGonagall, Madame Maxime, and Fleur Delacour walked into the room.
"Miss Granger, how is our young hero doing?" Dumbledore asked softly, his bright blue eyes fixed on the bed.
"He's..." Hermione trailed off, looking back at Lucifer's pale face. "He's still resting, Professor. The worst of the injuries are healing, but..."
"I would expect nothing less from a wizard of his caliber," Dumbledore said, a warm, genuine smile tugging at his silver beard as that familiar twinkle returned to his eyes. "He showed the school today what it truly means to be a Gryffindor. Quick, decisive action that saved a young girl's life when the system failed her."
Fleur, who was standing a little behind towering form of Madame Maxime, let out a ragged, choked sob, pressing a lace handkerchief to her face.
Hermione was looking at the four of them, about to speak, when a sharp stirring noise came from the mattress. She turned her head instantly. Lucifer was shuffling uncomfortably against the pillows, his jaw tensing before his heavy eyelids fluttered open, revealing those piercing eyes.
"Lucifer!" She was on her feet in a fraction of a second, chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. The commotion immediately drew Madam Pomfrey out from her private office, her starch-white robes rustling aggressively.
"Headmaster, I'm glad you're here," Pomfrey said, pushing past the group to check the magical diagnostic charms hovering near the bedside.
"How is he doing, Poppy?" Dumbledore inquired.
"Well, I won't lie to you. If he didn't possess those extraordinary healing abilities, he would have bled out into the lake long before reaching the surface," Pomfrey said bluntly, causing Hermione to let out a sharp, horrified gasp. "The boy was stabbed 'four times' with Ancient Runestone tridents. Deep, vicious punctures."
Pomfrey then stepped closer to Dumbledore, leaning in to whisper something directly into his ear. Hermione strained to hear, but the nurse's voice was completely muffled.
"Why are you always doing something so incredibly dangerous and life-threatening?" The bushy haired girl whispered fiercely to herself, her hands trembling as she looked at him.
Lucifer, now fully conscious, managed to catch the quiet murmur. His lips twitched into a faint, exhausted smirk. "It's me, Hermione... what exactly do you expect?"
Despite the sheer terror of the past few hours, she couldn't help but let a small, relieved smile break through her tears. Professor McGonagall stepped up right behind her, her stern face softening into an expression of profound pride.
"Morningstar, for your courageous heroics and... for showing this castle exactly what it means to bear the name of 'Godric Gryffindor,' I am awarding Gryffindor House two-hundred points."
Lucifer began to shift, gripping the edge of the mattress to hoist himself upright, but Hermione immediately placed her hands on his uninjured shoulder, trying to push him back down. "Morningstar, lay down! You were stabbed four times!"
He was completely resistant, however, stubbornly bracing his weight. "I know, I was explicitly there," he said dryly, his voice gravelly from the lake water. "And I killed those primitive Merpeople for it, too. If they had simply handed over Gabrielle when I demanded it, they would still be breathing."
"Speaking of the Merpeople," Dumbledore said, stepping up to the foot of the bed, his expression hardening into something deeply serious. "They breached an act of sacred trust that is not easily repaired or forgiven. There will be severe, lasting consequences for their actions within this tournament, I assure you."
Madam Pomfrey clapped her hands together sharply, her patience thoroughly exhausted. "Now I must ask you all leave immediately. The boy needs absolute rest."
"I'm fine... completely fine enough to have company," Lucifer insisted, finally managing to pull himself into a sitting position after Hermione gave up her physical resistance, huffing in frustration.
"Morningstar, I must insist that yo—"
"I said I'm fine," he repeated firmly. To prove his point, his fingers began to glow with a faint, warm light. He lightly brushed the fabric of his hospital pajamas over the exact spots where the Tridents had pierced him, using his own power to knit the remaining deep tissue together.
Madam Pomfrey just huffed loudly, throwing her hands in the air, and marched straight back toward her office. "Why am I even working in this castle if my patients utterly refuse to listen to a single word I say?" she muttered loudly to herself, and slammed her door shut.
Dumbledore wore an oddly satisfied, knowing look on his face, though he said absolutely nothing on the matter. "Well, I must say I am most certainly famished after all that excitement. I think I am going to head down to the Great Hall and sample some of the winter delicacies I have no doubt our house-elves have prepared. Care to join me, Minerva? Madame Maxime?"
"Yes, I do believe I shall," McGonagall said quickly, catching the heavy hint in Dumbledore's tone. She turned and walked ahead of him, guiding the large Beauxbatons headmistress out into the corridor.
Fleur was looking at Madame Maxime with wide, pleading eyes, whispering a quiet request in hurried French.
"Bien sûr vous pouvez," Maxime replied softly, patting her student's shoulder before following Dumbledore out, leaving the three of them alone.
"Lucifer," Fleur said, stepping closer to the side of the bed. "Zank you! Zank you so much for saving my seester!" Fresh tears began to flow freely from her eyes as she spoke, her standard arrogance entirely gone.
"Someone had to do it," he shrugged, letting out a sharp chuckle and regretted the movement immediately as his torso flared with residual pain.
"Lucifer, please try to refrain from laughing," Hermione admonished gently, her eyes full of worry, her boyfriend nodded, scooting himself backward until his back was resting flat against wooden headrest of bed.
"I'll try..." he muttered, turning his gaze back to Hermione and giving her a soft, reassuring smile. He then looked up at Fleur. "How is Gabrielle doing now?"
"She ees fine. A leetle shaken by the water, but completely fine," Fleur smiled through her tears, wiping her face with her sleeve until her weeping finally ceased.
"Good. I'm glad," Lucifer said, exhaling slowly. "How did everyone else place in the task?"
"Cedric got forty-five points; Krum got warfare—well, forty; Harry got forty-five as well," Hermione answered quickly, reciting the data, "Harry reached the hostages first, but he hesitated down there because he wanted to make sure everyone was saved.... Because of that delay, he didn't make it to the surface first like he should have. The judges gave him the same score as Cedric, and that was only because Karkaroff threw a fit and refused to give a Gryffindor full marks."
"I only received twenty-five... seeing as I deedn't feenish the task, I don't zink I deserve any points at all," Fleur said, her voice cracking slightly with hints of shame. "I simply couldn't get past the swarm of Grindylows."
Lucifer nodded vaguely, his mind drifting as exhaustion began to pull at him. He tuned out the rest of the quiet conversation, his eyes tracking aimlessly across the bedside table. His knuckle accidentally brushed against a small, empty potion vial. With a sharp, crystalline 'clink', the glass slipped off the edge and shattered on the stone floor.
"Ah... sorry, I will pick it up—" he muttered, instantly shifting to lean over the edge of the bed.
"No, Lucifer—!" Hermione yelled, reaching out to grab his arm.
"Uff!"
He winced as a jagged shard of the broken glass sliced cleanly across the pad of his index finger. Hermione tried to stop him, but the movement was too fast. The look on her face transformed into one of complete shock.
"Lucifer! I told you to leave it, didn't I? Now, see what just happened?!" She cried, her voice rising in pitch.
"I was just trying to—" he started, instinctively bringing the injured finger toward his mouth to suck on the tiny bead of blood that was forming.
But Hermione, entirely unable to hold her fraying emotions back any longer, stared at the red drop. "Y-You're... you're bleeding again..."
"I'm fine, Hermione. It's a tiny scratch."
"You even bled a little today earlier when you came out of the lake! And no, no, it is absolutely not fine!" She cried louder if possible, her voice cracking as the dam broke. The heavy trauma of day came crashing down on her. "How is it that you walk away from a lethal Manticore, from fiery giant snakes without a single scratch on your skin, but right now... right now you are bleeding from a piece of 'common glass?!"
She wanted answers right now. Hermione was panting heavily, her chest heaving as she leaned over him, her grip tightening on his hospital sheets. She refused to let him break eye contact, her brown eyes burning into his.
"The Boggart incident last year... it turned into something else, I cursed you this year, and I felt horribly about that for months, by the way! But what... what is this, Lucifer? Is anything even real with you? W... Were you trying to manipulate me this entire time? Were you trying to make me 'feel' bad for you? Is it all a game?!" Hermione felt completely possessed by her own frantic mind, knowing deep down she shouldn't delve into these kinds of dangerous questions again, but she couldn't stop herself now that they were entirely alone.
"No," Lucifer's voice was completely nonchalant, devoid of any anger or deceit, his eyes remarkably clear as he looked at her.
"Then what?! Explain it to me! How is it that sometimes you are completely invincible, and then other times a simple piece of trash can cut you open? What is the actual difference?!" She pointed out matter-of-factly, her voice trembling as she demanded the truth.
Lucifer opened his mouth to argue, to offer some deflection, but as he looked at her tear-streaked face and the terror in her eyes, he paused. He realized, with a heavy certainty, that she was entirely right.
"You are, Hermione," he said softly, his voice dropping into a quiet, reverent tone. "I don't fully understand the mechanics of it myself, but... I am only ever 'vulnerable' when I am close to you."
Hermione's breath hitched, her throat locking up completely. She didn't flee from the Hospital Wing or screamed, just simply sat back down in her chair, her face dropping downward into her hands as she went completely rigid, desperately trying to stay calm and process the terrifying weight of the new revelation.
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