She woke, her head pounding and her muscles apparently atrophied. Sitting up seemed beyond her present capacity so she allowed her eyes to roam. She heard voices but whoever it was that was talking was outside her line of sight and the noises didn't seem to want to interpret themselves as actual words. The murmurings grew louder and she assumed those that the voices belonged to were moving closer to her.
She strained her eyes and her head as much as she could to see who was walking toward her, to no avail. Her headache held her in a vice-like grip that did not allow any movement without searing pain and a wavering to her vision that made her desperately want to sick up.
A form appeared above her, out of focus and too close for her strained eyes to see more than a vague outline of a person. Silver gray hair that was fuzzy in her vision framed a face with eyes that she hoped were covered with glasses, because otherwise the eyes belonged to a creature she had no knowledge of: no eyes could catch the light that way. Please dear God, let those be glasses. She saw a shadow somewhere around where the mouth would be situated on the face before her and watched as it moved, accompanied by more noises that her brain did not want to decipher.
Whatever the figure was saying, it was repeating itself, for the murmurs seemed identical to her little-understanding brain. "Hermione," she finally realized it was saying. "Hermione." She wanted to respond and ask if that was she. Was she the Hermione that was being asked for?
She tried to speak but found that the effort of opening her mouth was all that she was able to make herself do. "Hermione!"
She opened her mouth again. "Mhuaammm," was the only noise she could make. Had she been in more control of her faculties, she was sure she would have blushed at such a pitiful success, but she saw the shadow in place of the figure's mouth turn up in what she assumed was a smile.
The figure left her vision and she heard more voices, louder, insistent and felt someone place something to her lips. Cool water washed down her throat as she swallowed convulsingly. She continued to swallow quickly and when she reached the bottom of whatever was resting against her lips, she tasted something other than just the water; some kind of honey-sweet concoction that she knew must be a normally vile medicine that was converted to something not-quite so vile.
She spluttered, trying not to swallow the sickeningly sweet whatever-it-was but was forced to either continue swallowing or drown herself. The liquid was persistent in its journey into her mouth and down her throat.
As she swallowed she felt a warmth spread throughout her body. A warmth that quickly turned unbearably hot. She felt her body twitch at the uncomfortable sensation and tried to cry out as another spasm ripped through her body.
"Stay calm," a velvety voice said beside her.
As the unbearable heat began to subside, she realized that the voices were beginning to register in her brain. She was able to distinguish between voices and pick up the meanings of some of the words. She also realized that, as she tried again, her body began to respond a bit more to her needs. With a feeling of triumph, she felt her toes wiggle when her brain told them to. She opened her mouth again and words issued forth,
"Where am I?" Her voice sounded harsh, as though she had been using it forcefully for a long while and had not had enough time to rest it properly. Her voice was also very quiet, but at her words, every other voice about her stopped talking.
The cloudiness of her vision began to subside as she saw the same silver-gray figure lean over her. "You are in St. Mungo's Hospital," the figure told her. He looked vaguely familiar but she couldn't imagine who he could be. "You've given us quite a scare, young lady." The eyes behind the glasses – thank the Lord they were glasses! – twinkled with mirth and sparkled with unshed tears. "You've been unconscious for days. We weren't sure you were going to make it."
"But I am, right?" she asked in the same worn voice. "I'm going to be alright?"
"Yes, yes. You'll be fine after a bit of rest and a few more days of minstrations by the talented people who have revived you." He smiled warmly to others that she couldn't see and heard humble acknowledgments from them at his kind words.
"Dumbledore," she heard the velvety voice say. The silver-gray figure in her vision turned and she assumed that he was responding to his name.
"Of course, of course," he responded to some kind of unspoken request. He moved to a corner of her vision and another figure blotted out the light above her. Dark hair framed a face of angular features. The face was unhandsome to her estimation and the pallid tone of skin and greasiness of his hair repulsed her.
But his eyes.
His eyes shown with intensity and an uncertainty that was heart-wrenching. And hidden behind all of this was a more shocking sentiment. His eyes burned with love.
She stared at him a good while which he seemed to feel was alright by him. At length she had to speak and she shivered at the guard that jumped to cover the depth of his eyes as she did.
"Who are you?" she whispered to the face above her.
As the man's eyes died right there in front of her, the dark haired man turned to look at the other, Dumbledore, whose eyes turned sad and pensive. Without any more ado, not even another glance in her direction, the dark haired man stalked from the room and she found that she could not make herself sit up to watch him go, but for some reason she desperately wanted to.
Instead she remained lying still on the bed and was surprised to feel tears wetting the hair by her ears as they rain from her up-turned eyes.
A/N: I apologize for those of you who were hoping that I was posting the sequel to Reality. Forgive me, but I'm having problems writing that one and I haven't had much time to do so because of being in two literature classes and a creative writing class (which did not allow me time to write anything that I actually wanted to write). I do still plan on finishing and posting it someday, but I'm not sure when that will be.
If you were hoping that I was posting that now, I thank you for reading this anyway
And for those of you who have absolutely no idea what I'm talking about…Thanks for reading. My inspiration for this work was the first verse and chorus of Flemming and John's song The Way We Are - check it out if you're interested.
My plot bunny for this story is very vain, everyone, so please flatter him. I may just leave this as a very unsatisfying one-shot if no one likes it, so please tell me what you think. Jaa ne.