Vigil
You haven't spoken a word since you yelled after Harry in the Department of Mysteries. Just as you realise this, you curse yourself for even thinking about that accursed place; it would not do to get angry or cry now, though it's all you desperately crave for. Just to break down with your loss and to visibly show how broken your heart truly is. But you are in a public place and you have a role to be self-contained and strong, plus you will not allow yourself to throw away your pride. No, you will weep alone, as you always do.
It is not completely dark as the Healers on their night shift bustle through the ward every now and again. Some give you strange, disapproving looks, some pity you, some are merely sorry. It might not show on their faces but you can sense it in their body language. They had tried to make you leave her side once visiting hours were over, but you stubbornly said nothing and remained seated until they gave up, sighing exasperatedly. If you were truthful with yourself, you know that you wouldn't know where else to go if you left St. Mungo's. It was hard enough to make the choice to leave the Depart…The Ministry. To leave Harry, to leave behind the murderous bitch who killed…him.
You can't say his name, you can't even think it. If you did, it would break your self control let loose the unbearable grief and fury that is slowly consuming you internally.
The moon catches your eye through the window next to her bed, you visibly shudder and force your eyes, instead, to rest upon her sleeping form. At your first real glimpse, you wonder, momentarily, how you could have ever had any doubts about going with her to the hospital instead of remaining at Dumbledore's side. She looks vulnerable, scared, even in her sleep. Your gaze travels up to her heavily bandaged head and, instead of cursing the world around you, you briefly thank God that she wasn't taken from you, too. You know that you surely wouldn't be able to go on if she had died as well. Ever since you first knew her, when you were both in your teens, you have always associated her presence and friendship with happiness and energy. That is what you dread the most about the moment she wakes up. You will have to tell her the news which will dash away her smile and her vivacious personality and unlike you, she will not be afraid to cry; you fear that it will cause you to crack, too.
You look at her like you are seeing her for the first time and, in some ways, you are. You have seen her in her true form before, long ago, but, beneath her powers, she has grown and changed. Her hair is no longer the short and pink style she chooses to wear, but long, falling in thick, black waves over the pillow. Her natural colour, the same colour as…his. It must run in the family. You take her hand, more to comfort yourself since she can't feel it; her skin is olive, though slightly pale at the moment, caused by her injuries. For a second, you want her to wake, just to know what colour her eyes are. She is thin, but not skinny, and you embarrass yourself as you realise you are observing her figure. Where her hospital gown has been pulled over slightly in her sleep, your eyes catch a small birth mark on her shoulder and you smile a genuine small smile to yourself; just another tiny detail that makes her who she is. You think that she would hate you seeing her like this, studying her so closely. You wonder why she hides herself from the world. As interesting as she makes her appearance sometimes, you don't think she has ever been as intriguing or as beautiful as she is now.
What you would give to be able to blend in for once. To have no one know you or know what you are.
You start as the hand you have been holding squeezes your own and she stirs in her sleep, you breath catches in your throat as you wonder if this is it and if she's going to wake up; so you can shatter her heart. She moans a little and you almost want to smile at her innocence. Suddenly, her eyes snap open and you cannot hold back the gasp the action elicits as you find yourself gazing into deep, chocolate brown pools, flecked with gold.
" Remus…" it is so soft and it trembles slightly. She looks down to where your hand is entwined with hers, then winces with the pain that has been caused by moving her head.
" Nymphadora…" her name escapes your lips, and you know how dazed she is as she does not protest to the use of her first name.
" Oh…" she says quietly, not looking at you, "…I'm…me…" You know that she is referring to the fact that she is completely unmorphed. She looks at you then and murmurs something that stabs at your already broken heart, " I'm me,…sorry…" As if the fact that you have seen her in her natural form was something that she has to apologise for.
" Why…?"
She shakes her head, dismissing it as you see something of further importance cross her mind; her eyes grow wide,
" What happened…I-I was knocked out…is everyone alright?"
You draw a deep breath that does not soothe you, and prepare yourself to speak…