Hermione moved on to the next victim of war. He was young, no more than twenty and that was stretching it. He wore no marriage band and looked at Hermione with the sorrow of a man marked for death. He gasped in pain and clenched his abdomen- for they always seemed to be shot in the abdomen. Hermione, for weeks now, had tried not to be moved by these dying men. It was in vain, always. There was little chance he would survive, but her mind zipped through the possibilities that he could have a chance. His eyes, they were so fearful. No more than any other in his position but there was something about him, something that told her to try.