Title: Inverted

Author: SevenAgainstThebes

E-mail: sevenagainst_thebes@yahoo.com

Pairings: HG/SS eventually

Disclaimer: JKR owns all HP characters, places, etc. etc....I merely get to borrow them for this little writing exercise.

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Chapter 3: The Little Voice That Nags

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There were two patients in the infirmary that night. One was Harry Potter, lying comatose for two days now. The other was Hermione Granger, who after being escorted back by Professor Snape, refused to sleep. Madam Pomfrey, who stayed awake to check on Harry at hourly intervals, offered Hermione a Dreamless Sleep potion; one which she refused to take, citing "possible addictive qualities."

But the real reason why she refused to sucuumb to the pleasant darkness that her heavily drooping eyelids offered was because she was afraid.

'Voldemort might try to break into my mind again.' she warned herself.

Now that the strange excursion to the dungeons and back was over, and now that she was alone with her thoughts again in the shadowy infirmary, the darker emotions that lurked beneath the normally placid surface of her demeanor threatened to come out to the open.

'Where's Snape when you need him?' she smiled wearily to herself. Professor Snape (and a bottle of his wine) had been a welcome diversion. Unlike everyone else whom she had encountered so far, he tempered his sympathy ('Who would ever think he could be sympathetic?') with a hint of coldness. In fact, the backhand he dealt her was practically brutal. She rubbed the tender spot on her face where his hand had connected so forcefully.

'No one thought to do that last time....they all stood there and screamed in horror. If Professor Dumbledore hadn't gotten there so quickly and cast a counterspell...' she shuddered.

A sleepy murmur came from the bed hidden behind the screens at the far end of the infirmary.

"Harry?" Hermione immediately went over to his section of the ward. Pushing aside the screens, she looked down upon one of her best friends. Harry was covered in cloth bandages that smelled distinctly like the herbal poultices that Hermione helped make the other day when the guilt became too much to bear.

She noticed his lips moving but no sound came out of them. Bending down to brush the hair out of his face, she whispered, "Harry, I'm sorry. Please wake up. I didn't know what I was doing."

But the insistent nagging voice in her head told her otherwise. 'You did know. Once you snapped out of Voldemort's little mind control ploy you kept at it. You knew perfectly well what you were doing. You were angry; every single time he and Ron made fun of you for studying, every single time they ignored you and pushed you away when you tried to help. You felt like he deserved it.'

Choking back a sob, she retreated back to her bed. Mere moments ago she would have considered staying awake a more preferable alternative to the limbo state of sleep where her mind would be quite defenseless. Except now the nagging voice was louder than ever and the deep feelings of guilt washed over her once again.

The black flask of Dreamless Sleep seemed much more welcome now.

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SevenAgainstThebes