Disclaimer: I do not own anything. The TV show Sherlock is referenced as Hermione jumps. I don't own that either. I don't own anything, really.
x White x
Hermione Granger used to believe in guardian angels. She had never been raised in a religious house, but she used to believe that there was someone watching over her, keeping her out of harm's way and protecting her wherever she went. Her belief only grew stronger during her Hogwarts years as she dodged death more times than she could count on her fingers, and although she did get hurt sometimes, it was never that sad, tragic, ultimate ending for her.
But now?
Now, she wished that ending had come for her.
Hermione Granger used to believe in guardian angels.
She used to believe in a lot of things.
Hermione stood on the edge of the balcony, clutching the wall behind her and looking at the ground that seemed so far away.
She swallowed the lump of fear crawling its way up her throat.
This was it, right? This was the end. No more pain, no more nightmares, no more crying. It was all going to be over after this.
She forced her shaking legs to stay still. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Life wasn't supposed to be full of this much sorrow. Hermione wondered what she would be doing if things had gone the way they were supposed to in the Wizarding World. Without a doubt, her parents would be with her, and she would probably be with her friends. Maybe she would even be happy.
But things had not gone the way they were supposed to, not at all.
Good had not triumphed over evil; it had simply balanced it out.
Harry Potter was dead, and soon Hermione Granger would be too.
With this in mind, Hermione bit her lip, and with the courage of a true Gryffindor, jumped.
It felt a lot like flying.
A bright light shined in Hermione's face, and she squinted her eyes.
Was she in Heaven? Did such a place exist?
There were voices all around her, shouting everywhere. In the midst of all the noise, she heard a cry.
A sharp pain shot through her head, and then everything was black.
One Week Later
Hermione Granger had somehow, unfortunately, survived the fall. The healers said it was because of the way she had landed. Hermione said that it was because whoever was in charge of her life, be it God or the fucking Flying Spaghetti Monster, was determined to make it as miserable as possible.
After five days of falling in and out of conciousness, she had finally come to a full recovery as of two days ago.
The healers had deemed her physical health stable, but everyone agreed that something had to be done about the disease in her brain. No potion in the world could get rid of that.
And the subject of her mental health was the reason Hermione was in this room today, sitting in a plastic chair that offered no support at all, across from a man whom Hermione knew as Mr. Bonham. He was the head of St. Mungo's.
"So, Miss Granger," he began, pushing up his glasses and examining his clipboard, "I see you have been deemed stable enough to leave the recovery room."
Hermione fidgeted with her fingers and let out a noise of approval.
"However," he said, "our staff here has agreed you are not fit enough to be let out of the hospital. We have decided to place you on our thirteenth floor, where we house our patients who..." his tried to think of a way to explain it without saying are absolutely insane.
"Have had very tramautic things happen to them," he finished. He looked Hermione in the eye for the first time since he had walked in the room.
"Sometimes," he told the girl, holding her gaze, "people can't deal with these things alone."
"I don't need your help," spat Hermione.
"You do not want my help," Douglass corrected. "Whether you need it or not, well, that is debatable."
"I'm not insane," Hermione said softly. "I'm not."
"Miss Granger, I said no-"
"Shut up!" she cried, jumping out of her chair. "This is all so goddamn stupid! I know what's best for me, not you! Everyone tells me 'oh, it'll be okay, dear,' and 'everything will get better soon.' Well, guess what? It's not! IT WILL NOT GET BETTER!"
There was a short pregnant pause before Mr. Bonham spoke again.
"Miss Granger, I am not saying that it will be okay. Nothing will be okay for quite a long time. I'm not saying you're insane, either. In fact, you might be the sanest person I've met," he said, a twinkle in his eyes.
"The thirteenth floor is the best place for you, Miss Granger. What you have in mind, I think, resembles a Muggle psychiatric ward. It is not like that at all," said Douglass. "The staff there will make things be okay, however long it may take. They are not called healers on the thirteenth floor. They are called nurses, for they do not heal people. They take care of them; they nurse them."
And that was that. There was no choice left for Hermione to make, for it had already been made for her.
When Hermione Granger walked into her room on the 13th Floor of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries for the first time, the first person she saw was a very familiar white-blond haired boy, lying down opposite of an empty bed that she assumed was hers.
Nobody had told her she was sharing a room with Draco fucking Malfoy.
He was reading the paper, but quickly put it down when he realized that someone was walking in the room. His eyes scanned her once, twice, before he realized that this girl was indeed Hermione Granger. The same one who had slapped him in the face, the same one that was tortured in his house, the same one who was really his only academic competition at Hogwarts. He hated her. And yet here she was, strolling into his room like it was nothing.
"Um, excuse me?" he asked the nurse leading her in, "What are you two doing?"
The nurse looked at him with surprise. "No one told you, Mr. Malfoy? About your new roomate?"
Draco stared back at the nurse.
"Well, yes, they have-" he stopped suddenly as he realized.
"Wait. Hold on. Granger is my new roomate?"
"Yes, of course," the nurse replied.
"No. No, no, no. You've made a mistake. There is no way that I can share a room with that-"
Draco stole a glance at Hermione, who was biting her lower lip and an eyebrow raised curiously.
"Girl," he finished.
The nurse simply shrugged.
"Sorry, sweetie. It is what it is."
Draco's hand closed in a fist. He hated that saying.
"No, I don't think you understand. You see, Granger and I... we don't really get along too well," he tried.
"Guess you'll have to learn," the nurse told him while directing Hermione towards the empty bed.
Draco's jaw hardened. He was really getting pissed off at this nurse. Who the hell did she think she was? Guess you'll have to learn. Really? Oh, yeah, in just a bit he'd be buddy-buddy with Granger and they would go on field trips to visit Potter's grave, right, so he could fucking lick his tombstone and shower his dead corpse with his love. It took every ounce of his self-control not to punch that stupid nurse in the face.
"This isn't a good idea," said Draco, his voice tight.
Hermione was already sitting down on the bed.
"It really isn't," she agreed, causing Draco to eye her suspiciously.
The nurse smiled at him.
"See? She's already agreeing with you. You two will be fine!" She took one step backwards, edging her way towards the door. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get going. Do you have any questions?" she asked Hermione, backing up slowly.
Hermione shot a glance at her.
"No." She wasn't even looking at her anymore; she was picking at her nails.
"Alright then!" the nurse said gleefully. "I'll check up on you later!" She quickly walked out of the door, her speed close to a sprint.
After the door clicked behind her, Hermione, still picking at her nails, muttered "fuck you."
Draco looked up at the girl in surprise. Who was this girl? Whoever she was, she surely wasn't Hermione Granger. She looked a lot like her; slightly older and more tired, with bags under her eyes and her clothes hanging on her frail figure, but still her face and hair were as distinguishable as always.
But no, the girl sitting on the bed across from his wasn't her. She couldn't be. Hermione Granger would never talk back, never curse, never be so... bad.
And yet here she was, picking her nails and telling off nurses in the room he had stayed in since the end of the war like it was no big deal.
"Don't talk to me," said Hermione, her words slicing through the tense air. "Don't even think about talking to me."
Draco let out a laugh. "Don't worry, Granger. I wasn't planning on it."
"Stop it," said Hermione. "You're talking to me right now."
Draco tilted his head to the side. "No shit, Sherlock. I thought you were supposed to be smart."
Hermione looked at him incredulously. "You are still the biggest bastard I have ever met, Malfoy, after all these years."
Draco made a rude hand gesture.
"You don't exactly look like you turned into a Hufflepuff, Granger."
Hermione stood up abruptly.
"Oh, fuck you!" she yelled, obviously pissed off. "I'm so fucking sorry that I changed after my best friend died! Why don't you look at yourself, Malfoy? You aren't exactly the poster child for peace and kindness!"
Draco laid back on his bed, adjusting his position until he was comfortable.
"Merlin, Granger. No need to get your knickers in a twist. I never said I wanted you to turn into a Hufflepuff, nor did I say I was - what did you say? A poster child for peace and kindness?"
Hermione didn't respond, but she sat back down on the bed - her bed.
It would be a miracle if the both of them could sleep through the night without one of them killing the other.
A/N: Yup, I'm back! Hopefully y'all enjoyed this chapter and will stick around for the remainder of the story. The story will get darker as it progresses, just as a little warning. Also, the swearing is here to stay. Please read and review and let me know what you think!
*this chapter was edited on March 9th, 2012*
Many thanks to my lovely beta Jenna!
MaioribusSpes x