Chapter One
Her eyelids fluttered open and she stared at the bland white ceiling. Disorientated, her eyes darted at the ceiling but she couldn't see anything but white though she realised she was lying on a bed. The silky covers were caressing her skin gently and the pillows under her head cushioned her softly.
She tried to move, just lift her arm to prove she still had a body but felt a twinge of pain so she ceased the attempt. Her entire body ached: like it was completely bruised. She managed to wiggle her toes and count them cautiously. All ten were there. Next her fingers. She could move them but some felt heavier and harder to lift.
Tilting her head to the left, she felt a shot of pain cascade up her neck and her head started to pound frantically as if large amounts of blood were suddenly pulsating through her tight blood vessels. She groaned but stopped abruptly. It wasn't her voice. It was because it came from her mouth, her voice box had vibrated to make the sound. But it didn't sound like her. The groan was husky and hoarse, frail and weak.
She closed her eyes and tried to bury herself deeper into the pillows. Everything was wrong. She didn't know what was going on. The questions burned fiery in her brain, repeating themselves over and over, hoping for answers. Why was she here? Why did she hurt so badly? Where was she? How did she get here? But she couldn't find the answers.
Thinking hard, she tried to remember the last thing that happened to her. It didn't come immediately. It took several concentrated minutes to recall what she could remember last. Flashes of colour came first. Red and green. Gold and white. Then came scents. Roses. Vanilla. Chocolate. Strawberries. An image appeared but it was blurred and her head pounded harder as she tried fervently to focus her mind. She could tell that this image was most important.
And then it focused, revealing The Burrow. It was cleaner. Like the entire outside had been scrubbed. The garden was gnome-free and blooming with daises everywhere. Connecting off the Burrow were hundreds of vines knotted together to make a large tunnel and then they tangled around the posts that suspended a silky tent high in the air. Laced within the vines were millions of roses, varying in colour and size. It was the last scene she remembered. The wedding.
Exhaling loudly, her ribcage rattled slightly and she winced at the pain of such a big breath. So she could remember the wedding but nothing else. She must have got terrible drunk on Firewhiskey that night and now she was waking up, feeling the pain of dancing too hard and drinking too much. She tried to smile but her lips and cheeks pierced with pain at the movement.
She let her body rest, drifting in and out of sleep for the next few hours. It was too painful to move so she rested herself. When she woke up hours later, the daylight had fully engulfed her room and she knew it was nearing midday. Slowly she tensed her muscles and felt aching pains. But there were no sharps twinges of pain so she thought it was safe to move.
Her body really did ache everywhere. Wincing constantly with her face screwed up to help her cope, she managed to swing her legs off of the bed and turn her body to the side. But she remained horizontal. Everything was throbbing sore. She tensed her stomach muscles and felt like she was being stabbed a hundred times. However she had to sit up. So biting her bottom lip, which caused more pain then it should have, she pushed up with her elbows and endured to the stabbing until she was sitting vertically. She let out a breath she had been holding in and again, her ribcage rattled and she winced.
Getting to her feet was easier but not less painful. The soles of her feet felt as though she had been walking on hot coals for hours. But the pain dulled as her body got used to the pain so much that is instinctively numbed it. She walked across the room and now she could see where she was. It looked like a hotel room. Muggle though. Everything was bolted down. Wizards could just put a Permanent Sticking Charm on all the furniture. It was clean and fresh and simple. A basic room with a big Queen-size bed complete with white pillows and covers. There were bedside tables with bolted modern lamps. In front of her was a large wooden wardrobe. She stepped towards it and turned the round handle, opening one half of it. There were several dresses that looked like they belonged to her but there were a couple of shirts, newly ironed and pressed, that didn't fit in with a woman's wardrobe.
She pushed the door back slightly and the change in light drew her attention to the back of the door to face a floor length mirror. But she didn't recognize the image reflected back at her. Her eyes were bloodshot and raw. There were bruises blooming around her swollen lips. She was wearing white underwear, exposing the bruises that plastered her skinny body in random areas. There were red marks on her neck and as she pushed her hair out of her face, her fingertips caress her hairline and encountered something wet a sticky that moved outwards turning dry and crusty. A long gash stripped through her skin on her forehead and it tinged with sharp pain at her touch.
The image in front of her wasn't her own and yet the body moved just as she did. It wasn't until she touched the reflecting glass that her eyes bulged wide and her swollen lips dropped. It was her. It was a swollen version but it was her. It was Hermione Granger.