A/N: I promise I will update my WIP's again soon, but life is being a git. I wrote this on the back of an exam paper while I had the time. Please review.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
She sat next to the window, in the rocking chair. The room was dark, save for the single candle casting a warm light over the room. But Hermione did not feel warm, quite the opposite. The wind was howling outside, tearing at the corners of the cottage. The room was quiet and empty.
Hermione kept rocking herself back and forth. She did this to keep herself sane, to keep her in the present so she didn't slip away. She felt manic, humming to herself, making slow, jerky movements as she ran her shaky fingers across the page. The ink was starting to fade from the parchment.
It was now drizzling outside. Raindrops fell softly from the cloudy sky onto the sand, disappearing as fast as they had appeared. She stared at the smiling faces in the pictures, mesmerised by the happiness displayed in them. Photographs and memories, that's all they were now, it was all she had. The magic was gone. She felt nothing; she was numb. Numb, and cold, and alone.
There was a crackle of light as thunder startled her tormented mind back into reality. A strangled sound echoed through the silence, but she couldn't tell whether it was the storm or her screams from before.
She saw her ghostly reflection in the mirror of the vanity. Her face was worn. Dark, lifeless eyes stared back at her, framed by black rings. She couldn't sleep, for every time she closed her eyes Bellatrix was there, her sharp voice cutting through skin and bone.
The flame from the candle was burning Hermione's soul. Its light was too much for the darkness inside her-it surged through her veins as a painful reminder of her torture. There was a tempest inside of her, a battle between life and death, but it was a storm in a teacup. It was no match for the cloudburst outside.
There was a knock on the door. Hermione tried to answer, but nothing but a small whimper came out. A mop of red hair appeared around the door. She desperately wanted to say that she was happy to see him in front of her, but she didn't. Instead, she felt nothing. Nothing except for the intense ache that enveloped her entire body.
Another crack of lightning lit up the sky. This time Hermione knew it was no use lying to herself; she was afraid of the thunder. She cursed Bellatrix for tainting everything she loved with fear, for fear and pain was all there was.
"Mind if I stay with you?" he asked softly. She shrugged, and a grimace crossed her face at the movement. He pretended not to see it though, and simply smiled at her. "How are you feeling?" he asked.
It took all her strength to answer him. "Sore" was all she could get out. Her voice was raspy and thick from lack of use.
"Why don't you lie down then?" Ron asked. So many questions. She knew that he was only worried about her, and she would probably have loved him for it-if there was any love inside of her.
"Can't" she whispered. "Need to keep moving, need to stay sane. I can't allow myself to slip away."
Ron's concern was clear on his face. He didn't like her talking like this. It was very dark and morbid, and very much unlike her. "Let me help you, Mione. Please" he begged. "I'll make sure you stay right here" he said, placing a gentle hand on her chest, his palm covering her heart. She wanted to pull away, the heat scorching her cold skin, but fought the impulse and leaned into his touch.
Carefully he helped her over to the bed, propping her up with pillows. Then he got in next to her, holding her in a tender embrace. She shivered as the heat started circulating through her frozen body, loosening the stiff joints and muscles. She remembered the warmth now, she remembered what love felt like.
She felt a wave of emotion building up inside her as she came alive again. She went through her brain, placing all the darkness inside a box. This box was now their coffin; it was time to bury them. Like all funerals, this one came with tears. Those thoughts were all she had, all she could cling to, but she knew that they would not pull her through. She had to get up and fight on her own-without them.
The tears came, and they were welcomed. These were tears of freedom, and they poured from her burning eyes. A bittersweet smile formed on her lips, for she could feel again, but she was feeling everything at once. She was alive, they all were, except for Dobby. She was going to be okay, she knew that Ron would see to it.
Her body racked with sobs, and Ron only held her tighter. He stroked her hair and whispered in her ear as she let out whimpers of pain. If he could swap places with her he would do it in a heartbeat. She did not deserve this. She was too innocent, loving and kind.
Her arm was bleeding again, the dark red letters only adding insult to injury, but he knew she would wear the title with pride. "Shhh, it's okay. You're safe" he whispered. "I won't let anybody hurt again."