darkisrising
lovely, dark and deep
who is watching who?
You know how when you are left alone in a house at night strange sounds seem to emit from everywhere. So to keep the frightened feelings at bay, we turn up the telly, stare harder at the book we are reading or just reassurance ourselves that we are being silly. Nothing is wrong. It's just our imagination.
The woods at night teem with odd and startling thuds, swishes, and cracks. Harmless animals. Nothing with sharp teeth. No. Not a person following close behind, waiting to grab and carry us off.
What if, instead, this is all happening in your head?
Those thoughts bouncing around are not yours. The images are not any you have ever seen. The names you whisper in the dark are a mystery upon your lips.
What then? What explanation to make it seem alright?
Are you simply going mad?
Or something much, much worse?
----
SHE SUCKED IN A rapid and shuddering breath as she grasped her throat. With the hasty intake of air, she began to cough and covered her mouth to deaden the sound. Eyes wide, she looked around the very calm and normal surroundings of her bedroom. Wearily rubbing her eyes, she easily recalled what had awoken her. The pair of hands wrapping itself around her neck had seemed so real; she could very well feel her esophagus caving in, the restriction of air flow killing her.
Hermione flopped back against the lumpy pillow for a few moments before deciding that she was not going to be drifting off any time soon. Groaning, she rolled off the mattress, wrapping a shawl around her bare arms. She made her way into the kitchen to mix a little draft to help her go back to sleep. Be it magical potion or Muggle alcohol. She knew the house had both; they made far too many appearances these days. Not stifling a huge yawn, she entered the cooking space and started backwards at the figure already standing in the room. Hermione reflexively raised her lit wand higher, casting long shadows down the wall.
The man blinked owlishly at the sudden brightness with only a lifted mug to block the invading radiance. "Hermione, mind lowering that a bit. A little early for the sun, don't you think?"
"Sorry," she croaked from sleepiness. "Nox." Soon a few dim conjured candles softly illuminated the two.
Silently, she set about pulling some chilled Dreamless Sleep Potion from the icebox and carefully measured it into a plaid, chipped mug, adding a dash of whiskey for good measure. Hermione steeled herself for the taste before downing the entire glass in one chugging swig. The liquid set her insides on fire as it made its way down.
"Hope you weren't planning on operating a broom or any heavy machinery," he quipped, grimacing along with her as she set the mug back down.
She shook her head sluggishly. "No, Remus, just planning on sleeping without people strangling me. It's quite bothersome."
Remus nodded understandingly, not speaking. He returned his own glass to the counter and then moved closer to a swaying Hermione. "As bothersome as taking a sleeping potion and not being in a bed at the time?"
"Well, bugger." She drew out the last syllable as she glared accusingly at the offending remnants of potion. "That was completely idiotic of me." Her heavy lids drooped suddenly and she fell forward in an instant sleep. The shawl slipped from her shoulders in the exceeding short fall into a pair of awaiting arms.
"Like a light," muttered Remus. With ease, he held her to his chest and slipped his left hand under her legs. Carrying her up the grand staircase only a Black could have afforded, he shook his head good-naturedly. This encounter may have been funny enough for even him to go back to sleep. He looked down at the young witch breathing evenly in his arms. It seemed he was not the only one experiencing unpleasant dreams tonight. In his, he was not the one being killed instead –he hated to think about it- he was the one doing the killing. All the pleading eyes for mercy and he had shone none. Remus had awoken tangled in his sheets and breathing heavy from the exertion. Snuffing out lives was strenuous work even if in a dream.
Pushing open her door, he tried to sweep the ridiculous dream from his mind. That was not him. He did not do such things, such horrible things. Remus attempted to put her down without disturbing her; though he doubted with all that was running through her system a herd of hippogriffs could trample down the hall and she would not know. Dutifully, he pulled the covers back around her shoulders and returned her wand to her bedside table. Remus stood there for a moment, running his fingers through his horrid case of bed head. Finally, he turned away, shutting the door softly behind him and reclaiming his own bed. Remus tried to replay the humorous image of Hermione realizing her folly through his head to keep from thinking about what could be to come.
It did not work.
Neither did Hermione's concoction. Not only did the same dream resurface to plague her relentlessly for the rest of the night, but she could not awaken from it as before. The potion kept her hovering outside of wakefulness when she desperately wanted nothing more. As her body at last shook off the effects, Hermione gasped and chocked more violently than before. An entire night of that had built up to her barely being able to take in air.
But the Dreamless Sleep Potion should have suppressed the strangling and any other images, good or bad, her brain could have tried to bring up as she slept. On the contrary, this go-around was much more realistic and vicious as she blacked out from the lack of oxygen. Gingerly touching her throat, it did feel sore to the touch. Pressing her hand to her forehead, Hermione was completely befuddled. The dream should have been kept from her. She had made a complete idiot of herself in front of Remus for a night of blank, blissful sleep.
You brainless girl, you can't suppress a memory.
A memory?
Hermione had never in her entire life had ever been strangled or handled in such a manner. How could she recollect what had never happened?
Never happened to you, true. To me, yes.
Her eyes raked the room from side to side. Had someone spoken out loud? Hermione could have sworn someone was talking to her because she sure had not voiced or thought that idea. Moving her hands to the side of her head, she massaged her temples and let out an exasperated sight. The strange dream thing was getting to her; that was for certain. She laughed nervously. Maybe the house was getting to her. Black Manor was creepy enough, yet even more so with the lack of people in it. She was thankful tonight there would be an Order meeting and several of the members would be staying for awhile.
Strange dreams and voices.
Never a good sign even in the wizarding world.
She rolled her eyes at the words she had spoken to Harry in Second Year. Had it been that long ago with the Chamber of Secrets and the Basilisk? Tumbling out of bed, Hermione strolled across the slants of sunlight invading through the curtains to her wardrobe. Upon passing the door, she felt the compulsion to reach out her hand and touch it. As she did so, she whispered a name. "Julius."
The footsteps that had been passing paused on the other side of her. It felt as if they too had put their hand up on the wood because the door shuddered under another weight. As soon as the weird moment came, it left and Hermione stood between her bed and her dresser, wondering why she was standing by her door. She looked down at her hand.
She was officially losing it.
And then all the peculiarities were wiped cleanly from her mind and she dressed for breakfast without worry. Except for the tug at the back of her consciousness about a rather terrible nightmare. Instinctively, Hermione rubbed her neck. She simply shrugged it off.
An unusual twisted grin graced her features for a split second though as quick as a whip a thought flashed across her mind soon to be forgotten with the others.
Silly, little Mudblood.
