Asthenophobia
By: Requiem's Echo
Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter series, including concepts and characters, but the dreadfully long description are mine.
Summary: Asthenophobia, an irrational fear of weakness, is a condition with which one, Hermione Granger, finds herself, however, help can come from the most unwilling of sources. HGSS
Warnings: Perhaps not so much this chapter, but outrageously sarcastic humor will most certainly follow! (The narration is told from Hermione Granger's first person perspective.)
"The irrationality of a thing is no argument against its existence, rather a condition of it."
Friedrich Nietzsche
Antechamber
A stunning display of nature's mocking arrogance greeted me with its vibrant scenery of Autumn's phlegmatic beauty the moment I closed yet another finished tome, which I am so infamous for having in my possession at all times. Sitting underneath a rather large and spectacularly colorful tree on the grounds of Hogwarts gave me the perfect opportunity to survey the slowly reddening Forbidden Forest, as it fell under the spell of October. I wish my pompous vocabulary would allow for a worthy description of the view, however, I hardly believe that 'aesthetically pleasing' would suffice; therefore, I'll have to stay content with my earlier musings on the stunning beauty of the scene.
Such a location was most certainly a welcome change from the dusty maze of bookshelves in the school library. Unfortunately, however, unlike in the library, the positive aspects of my current location did not remain in place as the day, I realized, was wearing on. The platinum sky was quickly darkening overhead, and the soft wind, which picked up not long ago, slowly progressed into loud howling about the courtyard. I would have been a fool not to notice the subtle signs of rain upon the horizon. The fact that I did, indeed, notice, however, doesn't strip me of the title.
A fool I was.
I took my limited time, lethargically making my way towards the castle. It seems, though, I grossly overestimated and instead of making it safely as far as the Gryffindor Tower, I was caught in the aforementioned rain not halfway through the courtyard. The frozen drops of water poured down relentlessly, quickly blurring the crisp lines of my vision as most of the imposing, gray structure of Hogwarts blended into the colorless background of the sky.
In hindsight, it would have been a wonderful decision to think twice, or maybe even three times, before running into the first visible door, however, having been soaked through in the short period of two minutes loosened my grasp on that wonderful aspect of the cerebral cortex: impulse control. My impulse was to find something mildly resembling a roof, and the moment I found such, I was sure to take advantage of it.
Opening and closing the wooden door with the maximum amount of difficulty due to its ungodly weight, left me in a small, barely-lit antechamber. None of the school colors adorned the objects within the anteroom; the scene before me was purely a classical blend of black and white—including anything from the black draperies to the meticulously white tablecloth. With only a lonely candle to provide for the lighting within the round walls of the dark room, the sight was unnerving, to say the least.
An undeniable feeling of irrational dread passed over me as I glanced yet again at the black draperies. They hung limply from a tall window, unpleasantly decorating the otherwise bare, stone walls, with their sad presence. I stopped my slow surveillance of the quarters, thoughts flying as the sight triggered a tingling recollection.
Black draperies are used to signify funerals.
I vividly remembered reading such a statement within the numerous pages of "Anna Karenina," no matter how unfortunate the knowledge proved in my current situation.
I pushed off the entrance door, noticing, with little difficulty, a spiral staircase on the other side of the room. I wasn't certain where it would lead; however, it seemed at the time that anything would be better than inactivity. Slowly creeping towards my means of escape, I made certain not to make any unnecessary sounds, which induced me to hold my breath as I went. Some part of my rational mind was sternly telling me that whoever I was trying to hide my presence from didn't exist, however, that didn't persuade me to resist the ludicrous bout of stubborn fear.
I was almost to the first step when something stopped me; an unpleasant pulling sensation at my stomach only intensified by the slowly growing dread. I stilled, not daring to breath or move, as my ears picked up on the faintest of sounds: footsteps.
They were coming from behind, a respectful distance away, I assumed, but slowly growing in volume. Curiosity was winning, as my body began to turn away from the stairs and towards the unidentified company. I was stopped, however, yet again. This time it wasn't so much outside influences as my own reeling mind.
It was the fear of becoming lucidly certain that I was not going to leave unscathed, if I was going to leave at all…
I ran.
I ran as quickly as my legs would carry me, fighting against vertigo and dizziness as the spiraling staircase swam in my eyes; my book almost deserting my grasp on a few occasions, my bag was slowly sliding off my shoulder, but I couldn't stop.
With jagged gasps and protesting muscles, I collided roughly with a closed door at the top of the staircase, barring my escape by merely the thickness of its wood. I tried pushing the bloody thing open, but it wouldn't budge.
Everything stilled yet again, as I desperately fumbled with the clasp of my bag, looking for my wand. In my panic, however, the rhythmic footsteps that were still growing closer didn't escape me. With renewed vigor, I ripped open my bag, grabbing the wand that I was so desperately searching for.
"Alohamora."
Nothing happened.
I tried it again, more for reassurance than real belief that I pronounced the charm improperly; the result for my second effort was the same.
I stopped, straining my ears to hear any sign that I was still being followed, hoping that perhaps my imagination was to blame for the initially perceived footsteps. I would probably have been happier to find that my mind was slowly deserting me that moment; however, such wasn't the case. Indeed, I was fully lucid.
I think I screamed then, out of pure frustration and fear, starting to bang on the door with all I had left, which, granted, wasn't all that much.
"Help! Someone, please!"
My pleas weren't being answered, while time kept ticking at lightning speed. The footsteps, which I couldn't even block out any longer, were still falling rhythmically behind me.
No one could possibly describe my joy when suddenly the door lurched open, and I was faced with a very much scowling Professor Snape.
"Miss Granger!" he exclaimed in subtle bewilderment. "What is the meaning of this?"
Indeed, I was never happier to see the man in my life.
TBC…
A/N: I would like to wholeheartedly thank you for taking the time to read this chapter. Hopefully, it wasn't dreadfully boring or bad, though I can't guarantee much. Please accept my apologies for how short it is, but I do promise that the following chapters will be much longer. If it's of no inconvenience, please review and tell me what you think. That would help a great deal!
Sincerely,
Requiem's Echo