A few days had passed and Hermione was now able to sleep in her own room in the manor. Her chest was healing slowly but was almost always in bandages. Her arm was strapped across her chest in a sling, with some bandages over small scrapes and gashes in her forearm. She had taken to spending most of her time in the living hall, sprawled on the couch in front of the large fireplace, either reading, writing or resting. She completely resented not being able to pull her weight but knew she was of little use in her current state anyway. Bellatrix had taken up a childish falling out with the Dark Lord over her title of lieutenant being taken from her, and Narcissa had been hobbling about like a crippled old man. She wasn't as injured as Hermione, and was able to work with the other death eaters, but she was slacking due to her wounds.