She couldn't describe it.
For all her intellect and knowledge, she could not find the words that fit.
It was like she was lost at sea. Her mind felt disconnected. Nothing felt real and she wasn't even sure she knew what real was.
What was real?
Was it the slight spasming of her muscles? Was it the anticipatory tingling in the ends of her fingers and toes? Was it the electrical currents that seemed to run through her nerve endings? Or was it the hazy fog of red that coated everything?
She was dimly aware of a cool surface beneath her that offered little relief from the blazing pain that wracked through her. Was that real?
She couldn't care anymore. She was too tired. She just wanted to escape the scarlet tinted hell she was in. What did it matter what was real or not as long as she could escape the agony?
The fog was closing in, becoming opaque in its entirety. She didn't bother to fight it. It was so much easier to give in. The black edges to her mind's vision seemed to promise a welcoming respite from her torment. She embraced it, wanted to crawl into its comforting oblivion...
"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
Her mind seemed to jerk at the scream, jolting her away from the darkness.
A brief bemoan of protest was weakly uttered in her thoughts as the dense haze lifted slightly causing yet another wave of sheer torture to crash over her.
She wished she could muster up the effort to cry.
Was it not enough? Was her persecution incomplete as it currently was? How much more did she have to go through before it all ended? Before she could escape into the chiasm of nothingness she craved?
But a small part of her felt something other than the anguish. A small prick of her old curiosity rose as something told her that she knew the voice. That she should listen to it because it was for her. Like it was her voice, that whoever owned the voice belonged to her...
The sounds of shouting burst through the smog, confusing her.
No more. She didn't want to fight anymore. She didn't want to get into the warfare that surrounded her. No more.
Then, just as suddenly as it started, the shouting stopped. Her thoughts breathed with relief for one short moment before something shifted.
She was no longer being pulled down from her stomach. No, the downward weight was centred in what she assumed were her feet. Was she standing?
She felt heavy. All she wanted to do was slump with the force, to not have to expend the small effort she was unconsciously making to stay upright but something was stopping her, keeping her in place.
"STOP OR SHE DIES!"
That voice.
Her voice.
Her mind recoiled from the sound.
It was the voice that was responsible for the fire in her veins which flared up as though in preparation for more.
No.
Please.
No more.
No more.
"Drop your wands. Drop them, or we'll see exactly how filthy her blood is!"
Something cold was pressed against a part of her that felt it had been ripped to shreds.
Her throat.
Its chilled surface seemed to burn in a different way than her other pains causing a shiver to run through her.
The terror in her mentality blocked everything out. The only other thing to pierce through it was the feeling of the iced object pressing into her further and a new coat of something wet.
Wet.
Her imagination brought up an image that made her fuzzy thoughts shrink back.
Blood.
Her blood.
Her lungs ached as she stopped breathing, enhancing the fire that raged through her body. The fog began to descend again and again she didn't struggle but for sheer shock.
A peculiar grinding noise from above... a crack and an ominous jingling.
There was a brief pause of suspension.
Then the sharp snaps of suffering.
The breath was knocked out of her as something heavy pressed its crushing weight upon her.
The blackness came quicker this time and again she wished she could cry; this time from the sheer bliss.
No more. It would stop. It would end.
And she couldn't help but be thankful for it.
If her muscles would cooperate, she would have smiled.
Any moment now...
The pain was already beginning to fade and dull...
All she had to do was wait for the sensation of being squeezed through a tube to abate...
"Hermione? Hermione! Help! HELP US!"
That voice again.
The one she should listen to.
Her thoughts were minutely clearer now there was room to concentrate.
She knew that voice. She had heard it before on many numerous occasions. But who does it belong to?
A pair of arms tightened around her. When had they got there? They were familiar though as a spread of comforting warmth enveloped her. She had felt that before but from-
Ron.
He was there.
He was there for her, holding her.
The voice was his.
He had come back for her.
He hadn't left her.
He had rescued her.
Her Ron.
Well, her friend Ron, not her Ron.
But he was there and that was enough.
It always would be.
The timbre of his voice washed over her ears and she felt safe.
The blackness came once again but it wasn't as heavy as before.
Other tones had joined but she focused on his alone and the feelings it brought with it.
Safe and with ebbing pain, her thoughts drifted off to sound of his voice and the feel of his arms around her.
A/N: Well this is something new...
I was reading the latest chapter of phoenixscars 'Required Reading' ("Malfoy Manor") and this popped into my head. I had to get it down so it would leave me alone.
I'm not too sure about the ending, but I'm pretty pleased with it if I do say so myself...
Disclaimer: anything recognised belongs to J.K Rowling. Any recognisable text comes from "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows", chapter 23- Malfoy Manor.
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