A/N I intended to conclude this story with the disturbing cliffhanger at the end of chapter 3, but then the writing itch kept nagging me, and I felt I'd left part of a story untold. It's just criminal to leave any part of a story untold. Thus… the plot thickens… (Thanks for all who are reading!)
"Still feeling that patrol?" Ginny asked as Hermione finally began to wake. Ginny, already fully dressed and nearly ready for breakfast, had considered waking Hermione, but decided Head Girl deserved to sleep in if she was still so exhausted.
Hermione ached the way she ached when she had a flu coming on. She slowly straightened and stretched her legs, pointing her toes underneath her blankets. She sighed. "What's today?"
"Tuesday," Ginny replied with a small laugh.
"Right… And what classes do we have on Tuesdays?" Hermione asked in a groggy voice with her eyes still closed.
Ginny stopped brushing her hair to give her full attention to Hermione. "Are you feeling alright?" she asked, her face transforming from amusement to concern.
"I'm fine," Hermione said, quickly throwing her eyes open and sitting up to face Ginny. "Is there… Did we have anything due today?" The sudden movement made her slightly dizzy, and she leaned forward to massage her forehead.
"Should I get you something? Or get Madame Pomfrey?" Ginny sat on the edge of Hermione's bed.
"No." Hermione forced herself to get out of bed and locate her robes and shoes but wouldn't meet Ginny's eyes. She paused between each task, for some reason unsure of where she'd put everything last time she'd used it. She could feel Ginny's eyes attempting to search her for answers.
"You can go ahead. I'll be down in a minute," Hermione finally said in an attempt to get Ginny's attention off of her.
Ginny didn't move. She was unwilling to leave Hermione alone in such an odd, half-wake trance.
Hermione took a deep breath and forced herself to look Ginny in the face. "Really. Go on. I'll be right there," she attempted to reassure in what she hoped was a strong voice.
Ginny waited a moment longer, but when Hermione didn't drop her gaze, she slowly left, looking back as she exited the doorway.
Hermione sighed and relaxed, dropping her shoulders. She was glad to finally be alone to try to make sense of everything. Hermione couldn't explain it. She didn't feel like she was getting sick, but she felt… bad - a strange mix of guilt, shame, regret, failure, and exhaustion. It wasn't quite the way she felt when a dementor was around. Dementors did bring out a feeling of failure in her, but even they didn't weigh on her this heavily. More than anything, she wanted to crawl back into bed and sleep until the feeling went away.
After attempting breakfast but finding the mass of people chattering, breathing, and looking at her too oppressive, Hermione stole away as quickly as she could without running so as not to draw attention and in a panic ran back to Gryffindor tower. She took shelter in a bathroom stall.
Thankfully, all the other Gryffindor girls had either gone down to breakfast or were already making their way to classes. In the silence, Hermione shut her eyes and took deep breaths, attempting to calm herself. Ok… what's wrong, Hermione? What's wrong? You're safe. You haven't let anyone down. Nothing has happened. Just breathe.
When she felt like she'd gained control of her thoughts and breathing, Hermione made her way back to bed, thankful that the 7th year girls' bedroom was also still empty and that Ginny hadn't followed to check up on her.
The faint rustling of paper hitting the stone floor woke Hermione as she stirred in her sleep. The sunlight streamed through the window at a slight slant. Hermione figured she must've slept through lunch. She, thankfully, did feel somewhat better, but spending the rest of the day in bed still sounded like a good idea.
Just noticing the note that had fallen from her bed and woken her, Hermione leaned over and picked it up.
We missed you in class today. Ginny said you weren't feeling well. If you're up to it later, I'd be happy to catch you up on the lesson. Feel better, and stop by any time.
Professor Halor
Well that was thoughtful. Hermione wondered if he did the same for all students who missed his class. She made a note to visit him after dinner when he was sure to be finished teaching for the day, and settled back into her pillows.
Hermione wasn't sure she wanted to let herself fall asleep again or not. She'd had such odd dreams. Not particularly scary or happy, but odd flashes of light, disembodied voices speaking words she didn't understand, and the Grey Lady hovering in front of her. What an odd choice of ghost for her subconscious to drag into a dream so forcefully. She'd never even spoken to the Grey Lady before.
"Hermione! Come on in," Professor Halor stepped out of his office doorway so Hermione could enter. "Feeling better?"
"Much," Hermione answered, unwilling to describe her symptoms of shame and failure, which were suddenly and inexplicably heightened, to her professor.
"Glad to hear it." Professor Halor gently closed the door. "Can I offer you a snack?" He gestured to a tray of lemon cookies on the small table between the fireside chairs.
"No, thank you," Hermione offered with a smile. The warmth and oddly sweet smell in the office was making her queasy.
"Well let's get to business then." Professor Halor sat in one of his maroon armchairs and gestured for Hermione to sit opposite him.
"We began the study of unforgivable curses today, not that that's an unfamiliar topic for you," he smiled. "You picked a good day to be sick." He nibbled on one of the lemon cookies.
"However, we did study some of their history - when they were developed, when they were outlawed, some of the variations on the curses, and what shields do and don't work against them." He held up a small, gold colored book. "I'll let you borrow this. It's all in here."
Hermione hadn't caught much of what he'd said. The churning in her stomach was getting more and more violent, and her head was beginning to swim.
"Thanks," Hermione acknowledged when she realized she was being allowed to borrow the book Professor Halor was extending toward her.
"So did Madame Pomfrey fix you up?" Professor Halor asked conversationally.
Hermione shook her head, too afraid to open her mouth.
"No? She works wonders. Might not have had to miss class had you gone to see her. What got you ill then? Did you eat something funny?"
Again Hermione shook her head, shutting her eyes tight against the tsunami waves crashing inside her skull.
"Could be stress. Can't imagine having your course load and being Head Girl." Professor Halor said appreciatively. Unnoticed by Hermione, he stood to pour himself a cup of tea from the set on his desk. "But do you remember what you ate last night? Because that could be – "
But what it could be, Hermione didn't have a chance to hear because she was already dashing down the hall with her hand clamped to her mouth, willing herself not to vomit before she reached the bathroom.
Already gagging, Hermione leaned over a sink, her fingernails scraping the porcelain and her knuckles white. She gagged forcefully a few more times, then straightened, gasping. She was thankful she hadn't eaten anything all day and even more grateful she hadn't been sick in Professor Halor's office.
Regaining composure, Hermione pushed back her sleeves and splashed cold water on her face. Icy droplets trickled down her forearms as she cradled her chin. She squinted into the mirror, thinking it must be dirty. But when the dirt spots moved along with her reflection's arms, she glanced down in shock. Both of her arms had large, angry purple bruises on them just above her elbows.
Hermione lifted her arms to see how far the bruises stretched in her reflection. Tiny purple dots sat in neat rows on the backs. She counted them – 4 on each arm. Hermione gently poked them, inflicting pain to make sure they were real. What could she have possibly done to herself to leave such marks? Hermione didn't remember running into anything or… anything… She'd never felt so confused, so empty and yet so uncomfortably saturated with emotion at the same time. It was exhausting.
Hermione scanned the floor for her bag. Oh no. In her hurry, she'd of course left her book bag and the book Professor Halor was letting her borrow as well. She'd have to return to Professor Halor's office. And with that realization, Hermione ducked into a stall as the ever-expanding volume of her shame and confusion violently erupted from her stomach.