Minutes slipped by in near silence, save for the panting and whimpering of the wounded. Hermione passed from cot to cot, casting blood-replenishing spells and anti-fever charms, conjuring diagnostics with a flick of her borrowed wand. The wand still resisted her, resenting every spell, but it seemed to like aiding werewolves more than it hated her. Dark recognizing Dark, perhaps.