I do not own any characters featured in this story. This is a short preview! Enjoy!
"I think we should just do it."
"Of course you do Ron, you never think before you act!"
"Oh well excuse me. Didn't realize you were Mr. Level-Headed. 'Spose it's been me then, running along all half cocked chasing you-know-who all this time."
It's hot. Her tongue feels like a piece of sandpaper resting in the dry cave of her mouth. Her eyelids must weigh a thousand pounds each. Or maybe they've been spelled shut. When she opens her mouth to speak up, she feels little cracks spread across her lips. They would probably sting, if there were any moisture in her mouth to prickle them. She tries to speak, but no one hears her.
Trying to sit up takes monumental effort. She doesn't know how long she's been asleep, or what's transpired or where she even is really. She can remember coming to the safe house, tired to the core, and then...
Nothing.
Finally she is able to pry her eyes open. This makes her so tired she almost closes them again. Everything is blurry, and hazy.
"Harry." Even to her, her voice is pathetic, a brittle leaf crisping along in the wind. She tries again, louder. "Ron."
Still nothing. She can hear the argument continuing in the other room, but it's muffled by the sound of water rushing in her ears. Obviously she won't get their attention from here. Getting up seems an impossible feat. But she can do it. She's the brightest witch of her age, best in class, Hermione Perfection Jean Granger.
Every movement feels monumental, the coverlet weighs a ton, and her legs are like jelly. Her eyes have adjusted, but everything has a pearly sheen, like she's watching a memory in a pensieve.
She's in "her" room at Grimmauld place. Same frothy curtains and covers, walls charmed to a sunny yellow to remind her of home. She almost makes it to the door when she sees her and lets out a scream, the first real sound she's been able to make.
She's a ghost, standing in the corner, the most pathetic creature Hermione has ever seen. All lines and edges, no softness to her at all. Her skin is haggard and yellowish, stretched taut over bird like bones that jut out painfully. Her clothing is muggle, which seems strange. The tank top hangs off her, her hip bones like knives, pajama pants covering what are clearly twig-like legs. Cheek bones like shards of glass, and eyes that are disturbingly large and hollow. There's nothing in them. They're dead.
She screams again, as she realizes this girl is her.
Harry and Ron burst through the door, finally able to hear her. She turns around sharply, but it makes her dizzy and she sinks to the floor.
"What's wrong with me?" she is able to rasp painfully, needles prickling her lungs.
Harry is right beside her, trying to be gentle with her. Ron keeps his distance.
"Mione, mione. You're alright." Harry mumbles into her lank hair. It's so greasy it could give Snape a run for his money. More of a matted mess than usual.
"Look Mione, everything's about to get better. You're going to get better!" Ron cries fiercely.
"Ron!"
But it's too late.
"What do you mean?" she asks, looking between them. Ron's eyes are brilliant blue, but there's something hard, almost unforgiving in them. However, it's Harry's that scare her. They shine a little too bright, a little too wet.
"Hermione..." He grasps her right hand, gently, running his fingers over a the ring she is wearing. She feels like she is seeing it for the first time. It's pretty. Plain, but pretty. Simple silver band, an emerald flanked by tiny diamonds. He turns her hand over, and puts something in her palm.
Another ring. Clearly a man's. A thick gold band ornate in design, set with rubies. It feels cold, cold, cold. It feels wrong. She turns it over in tiny, brittle little fingers. She catches a glimpse of an inscription.
Don't do anything stupid.
She sucks in a mouthful of air, hands trembling, eyes glazing over, and removes her own band.
I won't.
She can hear the boys calling her name, sees Harry pitch forward to catch her. But it's too late.
She is as cold and unfeeling as the rings themselves.
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