Looking Glass, A short story by Ophelia
I'm looking at you through the glass...
Don't know how much time has passed
Oh god it feels like forever
But no one ever tells you that forever
Feels like home sitting all alone inside your head
She was dangerous, they told him. She was lucky to have survived, being hit with such a spell that would have been lethal had she not been such a powerful witch.
The hallway was dark and murky, yet modernized, everything sleek, black or stainless steel. There was magic radiating off of everything; the wards so strong to prevent any breakouts.
At the end of the hallway, the man turned left. He was getting closer, and tried to keep the smile he was supposed to have on his face, however fake. She'd have a fit if she saw him, or anyone in an unhappy state.
There was a long glass window revealing a white cushioned room, plain, with a large canopy bed in the center. In the center of the room, a frail-looking girl sat, curled in a ball. As if she could hear his footsteps, her head jerked up, curiosity etched in her pale, hollowed face. Her chocolate curls, once frizzy and wild, were neat and drifted down her back. She did not wear normal clothes that one would wear in this kind of place, but clothing of the finest sorts. Since her best friend, Draco Malfoy, was a prestigious business owner, he expected only the best to treat the girl that had "brought light to his dark world".
She carefully stepped up from the ground and cautiously stepped forward. Her dark eyes met his, and he began to tear up. It happened every time; it seemed his pain didn't affect her, yet had Draco come with him this time, if he had even frowned, she would begin to cry. The doctors had told him she was very sensitive to negative emotions, and she would somehow experience twice the pain.
It killed him inside, to know every time that someone close to her experienced pain, she felt it worse.
How do you feel? That is the question
But I forget, you don't expect and easy answer
When something like a soul becomes
Initialized and folded up like paper dolls and little notes
You can't expect a bit of hope
And while your outside looking in
Describing what you see
Remember what you're staring at is me
He pressed his hand up to the magicked glass, and curiously she put her fragile-looking hand directly against his, cocking her head. With his free hand, he brushed the tears threatening to spill form his indigo eyes with his elegant, pale-olivine hand.
"Sir, the file you requested." A young woman, healer trainee, perhaps seventeen, quietly handed him the file and exited. There were benefits to an Unspeakable. He slid his hand down from the window, leaving her hand hanging, and carefully flipped open the file. A crystalline tear weaved its way down his handsome face, and he ran a hand through his straight, short black hair.
Patient Number: 3000679
Condition: unstable, yet to be confirmed.
He skipped the daily reports, until he found the ones he was looking for.
Spell Type: unknown
Reason for spell: Suicide
The doctors had told him she had been hit with this unknown spell in the war. So many thoughts were flying through her head, and there seemed to be only one answer.
--
"Draco."
"Yes?"
"Did you know it was suicide?"
No response.
"DID YOU KNOW IT WAS SUICIDE?"
"Yes."
He did not respond.
"Harry didn't want you to know. Because of your close relationship."
"CLOSE? What about you and her? You two had a closer relationship."
He sighs.
"I don't know. That's what Potter said."
"And if Potter told you to jump off a cliff, would you?"
"For her, yes."
He felt guilty.
"I'm sorry Draco."
"That's-that's all right." They were both sniffling by now.
--
He visited her the next day. She placed her hand up against the window, like a signal of friendship.
He could hear the clock ticking.
He placed his hand against hers, almost feeling her heartbeat through the charmed glass.
Ticking…he had less than 10 minutes.
The tears came to him, yet nothing to her.
"Hermione, I'm sorry. I should have helped you…but I can't. Why? Why did you do it? Can't you see? We all need you, Draco, Harry, Ron and the Weasleys. I need you."
She shook her head furiously; he guessed she didn't loose it all, for she was reading his lips.
He glanced at the clock. There was little time left.
Ticking.
He let his hand slide down from the window.
"I love you, Hermione."
Hermione clenched her chest, writhing in pain as she staggered back.
She felt his pain.
There was an alarm, and steel walls fell around her room. It was time, just like every other night, when her room was put under high security.
When she had her attacks.
Frightened, she backed into the middle of the room.
Fighting her pain, she mouthed back something, before it took over
"I love you, too."
Though he knew they would never be able to be together, Blaise Zabini felt a lot more happy then he had in nearly eleven years.
[Ok, bit of a backstory. Hermione, after the war, tried to kill herself. Though, because of her power, it did not completely kill her. Hermione, being the smart witch she is, invented the spell, so there is no record of it, so the healers don't know how to cure it yet.
Instead one of the side effects are the fact that she can feel pain of those whom she loves deeply, and vice versa, and at a certain time of day, she has these attacks, like tremors almost, or an epileptic fit, in a way.
-Ophelia