Hermione turned, but they were closing in on her, taking her farther and farther away from the light. Dark cloaks, drawn hoods, chilling voices. They were floating and were much taller than her. She heard echoing laughter, and her whole body burned. Her heart pounded.
She felt a burst of blinding pain wash over her, and then it was gone, and a deep sense of depression and despair came over. For a moment, her grief was so all-encompassing, so overpowering that she forgot to breathe. However, when she did, she felt the horrible cold seep into her lungs. The dark, gloomy feeling was now not only destroying her from the outside, but was eating away her insides too. She was almost numb enough not to feel anything. Almost.
She fell to her knees as another flash of pain set her blood on fire. She screamed as this power ran through her veins, and began shaking uncontrollably. She wanted to cry, but the pain was gone and she felt numb again. She saw the flash of a silver knife, of wild hair and crazed eyes, and then she closed hers-
"Hermione!" Her eyes flew open once again, though this time it was to her apartment - to Ron.
A moment after her eyelids fluttered open, she had her wand pointed at Ron's heart. Her chest heaved as she panted, though her arm kept steady. Her eyes caught Ron's and he seemed to sense something. Immediately, he put his hands up in a sign of peace. She glared suspiciously for an age, eyes flickering around, looking for any trace that she was here...
Slowly, as the adrenaline wore off and she began to tremble again, she lowered her wand. She knew that if she raised her hand to her face, she would feel fresh tears leaking from her eyes. She wasn't aware that she was doing it, though. Her hand instinctively came to rest on her heart. Its beating seemed to reassure her in some way, and her face relaxed slightly.
Then next moment, Ron had his arms around her. She sniffled, breathing in his familiar scent. She felt him tighten his grip just a bit.
Get a grip, Hermione. It's not real. She's dead, it's already happened. Ron's real. Think about him... breathe.
She closed her eyes, trying to consciously let go of the memories. Of Greyback and Bellatrix. She tried not to think about those memories, loosening her grip on them and tightening her grip on Ron.
For once he wasn't speaking. On nights - mornings - like these, when one of them woke up with nightmares, they had specific rules and procedures. Ron liked to talk things through and use logic to prove to himself that whatever he had been dreaming about wasn't true or possible. She, however, didn't like talking about the dreams, didn't want to burden others. She needed something real to hold on to to assure herself that this one thing that she held was real. Everything else could go die in a hole somewhere. In the morning, she faced her problems head on, when the darkness wasn't there to scare her.
The inspiration for this chapter was the word Cimmerian: very dark; gloomy; deep.
Thoughts?