I.
Fill these spaces up with days Azure Ray - Sleep
In my room you can go you can stay
I can't sleep i can't speak to you
Now these years locked in my drawer
I'll open to see just to be sure
I can't sleep i can't speak to you
And so i'm reaching out for the one
--
"Miss Granger?"
Hermione made no indication that she had heard the voice, but she knew it belonged to the blonde, blue eyed Healer who was always on shift this time of day.
"You have a visitor, Miss Granger."
No reply.
The Healer sighed and said, "Go ahead, sir."
Harry Potter stepped into the room. Although she had her back to the door, Hermione knew it was him. She had memorized the sound of his movements, the way he walked, the sound of him closing the door and his approaching footsteps on the cold concrete floor. They were always the same; careful, slow and controlled.
Visitors were required to rehearse proper conduct when they came to visit The Forlorn. 'Keep your voice steady.' That was one rule. 'No sudden movements.' was the second. 'Keep your wand imminent at all times, but out of sight,' was the last and most important rule.
"Hello, Hermione!" Harry's voice rung out and echoed off the bare walls, bouncing back onto them. She hated the way his voice was always falsely cheery when he talked to her. "I was offered a higher position at the ministry today," he said evenly, abiding dutifully by the first rule. "I don't know if I'm going to accept it though... I quite like being a lowly Auror."
Hermione blinked at the wall.
She hadn't spoken for over a year now.
In the beginning, when Harry used to visit her everyday, she would cry. Tears would silently stream down her face without her making any effort to stop their seamless flow. Harry had stared at her with a hopeless look on his face. "Hermione..." he would say. "I'm sorry."
Hermione had always wanted to say something. Let him know she knew it wasn't his fault. That she never blamed him. She wanted to cry on his shoulder and let her tears flow freely as if all the pain inside her could be expelled along with them. She didn't know what she could say that could possibly express all that, so she never tried. She just let her tears fall and let him apologize for something they both knew he wasn't responsible for.
At night she would lay awake, thinking about him. Imagining where they might be and what they might be doing if he were still alive. Sometimes she'd drift off to sleep, still thinking about him, and those thoughts would morph into dreams. They would have lived in a big red brick house out in the countryside, not too far away from The Burrow. She'd be making breakfast for their five little red-haired children when he'd stroll into the kitchen and in typical Ron fashion, say something cheeky, making her scowl. Before she could respond with something equally bantam, his arms would be wrapped around her in a tight hug, and he'd place a swift kiss on her lips.
Hermione would smile in her sleep and roll over.
Her heart always broke into a million little pieces when she woke up. After a few months, she stopped sleeping.
After a few more months, she didn't even bother to cry.
Harry didn't come to visit as often anymore.
---
Before she was moved to ward 50, indefinitely inhabited by The Forlorn, she had heard Harry speaking to a Healer outside her room.
"I talk to her all the time, but she never responds. Does she still understand.. things.. and people?"
There was an uncomfortable pause.
"There isn't really a definite answer to that, Mr. Potter. It all depends on how much she wants to understand."
"So..." Harry sighed. "She might not be in there anymore?"
Another pause.
"It's a possibility."
Three days later, she was moved to the long-term residents section of ward 50.
---