+I
"Hermione."
She wakes up in cold sweats, the taste of ash in her mouth, her whispered name resounding in her head, in a voice that should have long lost the capability to speak.
(When she drags her body out of bed and stares into the mirror, all she sees is bright, bright red- she screams.
When she opens her eyes again, everything is as it should be, though ugly and distorted by the flickering neon lights.)
-VI
She slips the locket around her neck, feels it nestle closer to her heart.
Shivering, she brushes two hesitant fingers against it, noticing that it is still ice cold even though Harry has worn it for hours.
(Her fingers jerk away quickly, involuntarily: it seems to beat, in rhythm with her heart.
Her knees collapse, for a wild moment she cannot breathe, her head a mass of white, blinding, consuming pain.
It's over instantly, but she cannot be sure if she only imagines it: a laugh, reverberating in her head.)
O
Voldemort falls to the ground, dead. A mere, mortal man- not even a man.
Just for one, overwhelming second, Hermione feels rage. Her left eye sees the world in tones of red- she blinks the disparity away.
(Harry and Ron collide with her in a hug that leaves her breathless, but when they let go her lungs still cannot breathe.
"Hermione?! HERMIONE?!" They sound frenetic, worried as she falls.
"Hermione." A quiet whisper, seemingly welcoming her into the darkness.)
+II
"You're not real, you're not real, you're not real," a constant chant, as she sits, arms wrapped around her knees, rocking forward and back. The goose bumps on her arms are not because off the flimsy white gown she is forced to wear.
There is a metallic voice in the background, getting louder and louder. She doesn't pay it any attention.
Then, white bursting into the room- always white-, a stabbing pain in her arm, a scream, she's shocked to realize, is coming from her.
(The last thing she sees: a handsome face, twisted, snarling, furious. He is the only contrast she has to the endless white around her, dark hair, eyes and a neatly pressed black robe.
Sometimes she is more afraid of the fact that he might not be real than of the fact that he might be.
She welcomes the darkness now. It's the only escape she has.
-IV
"Hermione," he taunts.
"Go away," she snaps.
("Never, I have seen your fears, your hopes, your dreams. I have seen your heart, it belongs to me now.")
-I
"You do it."
She drives the basilisk fang into the cup.
(A bloodcurdling scream, twisted, raw. Ice shooting up her arm, burying itself into her heart.)
-III
Harry and Ron come back with a sword and the locket destroyed.
No, is her very first reaction, and she wants nothing more than to cradle it to her chest.
Instead, she takes it out on Ron.
(That night, she dreams of him.
"You can't be here."
"Oh my darling," he says, "there are so many things they told me I couldn't do.")
-V
She is wandering, aimlessly, happy, letting her hands stroke the leather backs of her beloved books when she turns a corner and-
A boy.
Bright, grey eyes, a patrician nose, high cheekbones, neat dark hair, red lips that twist into a smile the moment their eyes meet.
His teeth are sharp, white, she wonders how hard he would bite.
His smile is lethal, dangerous and breathtakingly beautiful.
"Hullo, Hermione," and he sounds very amused. "My name is Tom Riddle."
She screams.
(Soft lips, calloused hands, heat and sweat. She never told Harry or Ron, but the locket tormented her for very different reasons than it ever did them.)
+III
You belong to me, you belong to me, you belong to me.
(Her heart still beats blood red against the pale skin of his hand.
There is a gaping hole in her chest, and her mouth forms an 'o' but her lips never make a sound.)
+IV
There is a redheaded boy on her left, but all her attention goes to her right: handsome, dark haired, but his hair is too messy and his eyes are all wrong: they are green. She wants to claw at them until they are red.
(There is a girl in front of her. She doesn't recognize her, all bushy hair, brown eyes and chapped lips- she tries to touch her, but her hands meet glass.
Sometimes she forgets her own name, but the boy behind her whispers it in her ear as he holds her close: "Hermione."
She likes his voice. She thinks she would go insane without him.
He laughs when she tells him this, but doesn't say why. It doesn't matter.)
-II
When the boys are sleeping, their deep even breaths assuring her, she touches the locket softly, brushes two hesitant fingers against it just like she did the first time.
It stings her, burning her skin with cold instead of heat.
(That night, he kisses her for the very first time. He has touched her in every possible place the last few weeks, but until now his lips had never brushed hers.
They taste of damnation. They taste of salvation.
They make her forget herself.)
+V
Sometimes, she can escape him, sees clearly. She feels him pulling her back and holds onto anything she can, tries to reclaim her lucidity. She is terrified.
("Why was I so scared?" she'll ask later, hugging herself.
"Because they tried to take me away from you. But I am here now. I'll always be here."
She feels relief when he tells her this.
The truth is, she doesn't even fight that hard.)
+VI
"You poured out your soul to me, and it happened to be exactly what I wanted."
"Do you have any originality?" She snaps at him, "Because I've heard that one before."
He grins, strokes her cheek and raises an eyebrow when she flinches.
"You're still here, aren't you? You happen to be much more valuable than Miss Weasley. When I realised that, I'd never dream of killing you."
"So what do you want, then?" she's exhausted, after months of mental torture, and he is no longer spectre. He stands before her, corporeal and holds out a hand to her.
"It's time, Hermione."
(There was never any question of what she would do, not even in the beginning; when she first slipped that wretched chain around her neck and felt it beating in sync with her heart.)
.
.
In St. Mungo's, a machine stops beeping and emits a shrill sound. When nurses dressed in white burst inside, there isn't a trace to be found of the witch that inhabited it the past few months, but for a single moment a shadow appears on the wall depicting two hands linked as one.