Hm...I've got several plots running around my brain, started writing a few of them, but this one stood out to me first, so here we go. Don't really have a plan for it, but I'd like to see where it's going. Please read and review if you like. Cheers.
The laughter would have echoed in an ordinary room, but the padded walls in this one prevented it now. Her tangled mop of long frizzy curls fanned around her wildly, just the way she liked it. She'd woken from her fitful sleep laughing. The reason unknown, for her dreams had been forgotten but it didn't really matter.
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When the fit of hysterical giggles subsided, she panted trying to catch a train of thought that made sense.
She was lucky, she supposed. After everything she'd done, to get stuck in the solitary ward of St. Mungo's, rather than being stuck back in Azkaban was a stroke of luck, a blessing. The thought of the prison sent a shiver through her. They'd probably gotten rid of the Dementors by now, with Kingsley running the Ministry, and the death of the Dark Lord. But still. She supposed she was lucky to still be among the living, if you could call this living.
This was the part of the Hospital most people never saw. Sub Level 3. It was all she'd seen in…she'd lost track of the time. It didn't matter. This was where they put the people too crazy, too far gone to even have a chance of being cured, the people they didn't want the public to know about.
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She finally opened her eyes, not that there was much to see; her pupils were dilated huge, in the low blue light, not that you could really tell, her eyes had darkened to near black, but they'd once been soft brown.
They'd learned in the beginning never to leave her in complete darkness. With the lights out, the blackness surrounding her would seep inside her, changing her. Her magic would flow wild, frenziedly, completely out of control. Her screams would break through all the silencing charms, piercing any ears they could reach, which was, from what the orderlies said, up to even the Visitors Tea Room on the 5th floor.
She felt a wave of mirth at the thought of all the people she'd managed to disturb before they'd realized it only happened when they turned the lights out. So this pale blue flickering was constant. She rolled over onto her stomach, a difficult task with the straight jacket. She cackled her mirth into the padded floor, before abruptly she began to shriek, as anger took over.
The fucking straight jacket.
They'd put it on when they'd discovered she had been clawing deep gashes into her skin wherever she could reach. Most of them, they had easily healed, but some had become grotesquely infected, and took a little more work, particularly the ones on her back.
The reason the restraints pissed her off more than any other, was that she couldn't see or touch her left forearm. The scars that were all she had left of her beloved. She had been able to pass the time between fits of clawing madness and horror and tears and all the other emotions that would periodically thrust themselves upon her, by caressing the soft white remains on her arm, faded with time, but never completely gone.
Now she couldn't even do that. She seethed and the rage was almost enough. She closed her eyes and shoved her face into the floor; darkness, sweet darkness. Nearly.
But no, the lights, they were getting brighter, slowly, but surely. They were coming.
She slumped, as the anger leaked from her. A slow sadness followed in its wake, thoughts turning to Her.
Pale skin, so smooth. Her eyes. Oh god, Her eyes. Each and every time she looked into them, they pierced her, shattered every fiber of her being, and made her new once more. The knowledge that she's never feel that again, that raw vulnerability under the gaze of eyes she'd never see again, it sickened her.
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She didn't realize the screeching cries were echoing from her lips until they suddenly ceased.
A Silencing Charm.
She opened her bleary tear stained eyes, and twisted, so she was still on her knees, her forehead resting on the padded floor, looking upside-down at the medi-witch who had disturbed her gut-wrenching melancholy.
It was the younger blonde one this time, much preferable to the mousey-brown haired medi-witch. Both of their names were lost to her. Names, like faces and memories always mixed in her mind, jumbled, except where it concerned Her.
The blonde medi-witch was mid-thirties or so, sort of pretty with long thick curls, she almost seemed familiar, but that meant nothing.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, and seemed about to say more when she was interrupted.
"Penny dear," That voice came through the doorway, "wait for me." Oh. They must be cleaning her wounds. That always meant both of them. It must be morning then.
Dark eyes watched as the slightly chubby woman, in her late fifties bustled through the doorway cheerily.
The woman waved her wand lightly, casting a body bind hex. As the magic touched her, wrapping around her like warm sticky fingers, she gagged, trying to struggle free. The bubbly woman's magic always felt like a violation, and the worst part was that it was weak. With a wand between her fingers, this woman would easily be taken care of. If only she could loose her magic, just for a moment…
"No screams or cursing today?" the witch seemed surprised.
"Silencing Charm," The blonde replied, "Her screaming was…chilling, when I walked in." She sounded almost sad.
"Oh-ho! Good work Penny dear," the older witch laughed. "Oh! I've forgotten the potion on my desk! Be a dear and go grab it for me?"
Penny nodded, and left the room. The older witch removed the straight jacket with a flick of her wand, "Lets see how those wounds are healing now." Thanks to the body bind, she was still unable to move, even without the straight jacket. An internal struggle commenced, the same one as always.
Free the magic and curse the wretched bitch. It was so close; she could feel it writhing beneath the surface of her skin. Itching to be free. Non-verbal magic and wand-less magic, she could do it. If she could tap into it, she could have the wretched body bind off her in an instant, she could tear this woman's head off. No. That would definitely send her to Azkaban. She could at least subdue the witch long enough to get the chance to move freely for a bit. Yes. That was all she wanted, she knew she belonged here. She was, after all, a danger to herself and others, as they'd decided in the courtroom.
She closed her eyes, and took in a slow breath. Focus. Don't try to unleash it all, losing control would not do. She'd kill the woman by accident. She could feel the last of the wrappings fall from her torso. Some of the scabs came off with it, and she hissed in pleasure at the slight twinge of pain it caused her. She could see some blood on them as well, from the corner of her eye, and was pleased that rolling had managed it.
The witch was humming now, as she looked over the wounds, casting some healing charms here and there. It was the same damn song she always hummed, a happy light tune that would replay itself for hours after the witch had gone. It always did.
There it was, the anger, she needed, but not the blind rage that would lose her control. She was mad about the Silencing charm. She was mad about the woman's magic wrapped around her, and now the whistling again. That was the last straw.
She felt the warm flame of her magic rising within her. She only had a few moments to choose how to use it. Luckily she was still damn fast.
Three things happened simultaneously before the medi-witch could even blink. The Silencing Charm was shattered, the invisible bonds that held the madwoman were torn to shreds, and the poor woman was blasted back against the padded wall. The cackling laughter that filled the room sent a shiver down the witch's spine. Her wand had fallen from her hand.
A quick movement, and long thin fingers curled around it gently. The wand rebuked her; she found it as distasteful as the magic it produced. She almost snapped it in two, but thought better and tossed it into a corner. The medi-witch was disoriented, but would regain her composure quickly. There was little time.
Softly, reverently, fingers caressed scars long healed. First, along her arm, then to her ribs, where fresher wounds waited. With a savage howl, fingernails dug deep, opening the wounds as she feverishly scratched and grated at the soft flesh they found, tearing at every inch she could reach, up her sides onto her back, where the still healing flesh waited. She moaned at the pain and felt arousal course through her, and her thoughts turned once more to Her.
The feverish need, she always felt at the touch of smooth skin, whether it was gentle or rough.
She slid her bleeding nails down the side of her face, leaving four gashes down her cheek her other hand was sliding toward her center, desperate to release the quickly building tension. And her moment was shattered.
She found she was wrapped up in the blonde's magic, as Penny had dashed back into the room. It wasn't an unpleasant experience the way the other witch's magic was, but it was still infuriating to be thwarted when she had been so close. Another silencing charm, before she could screech her fury. The blond turned to the other woman.
"Mildred? Are you alright?" The mousey-brown haired woman nodded, and Penny fetched her wand. "What happened?"
"I'm not certain, one moment it was fine, the next she was free and screaming her head off."
Penny sighed, "I should have removed the silencing charm." And at that, she flicked her wand and removed the one she had just cast.
"I'm sorry." She really sounded apologetic.
All she got in response was a hiss.
As Penny gazed at her fresh wounds, and the blood slowly staining the floor, she finally asked, "Oh, Hermione, why must you do this to yourself?"