A blasted plot bunny has been hopping around and I couldn't ignore it! Though it is missing a tail and an ear or two, I assure you the plot will become solid...sometime...but until then enjoy and as always in the world of reviews are lovely.
She could feel her head lolling back on a shoulder. Hands were hastily stuffing her limp body into a soft gown. Someone was trying to support her weight, to keep her from falling. A sharp voice penetrated the haze, "Stand up." A soft smile on her lips, she instantly complied. How could one not listen to such a gentle, sweet voice? Almost like music, a voice added.
Her body was lifted and carried none too gently across the room. Unceremoniously, she was dumped on a bed. Though her eyes were closed, she didn't need to see to know it how soft and fluffy it was. Just like the Head Girl's bed at Hogwarts. The haze was pushed aside at the memory. Shouldn't she be at Hogwarts? Panic seized her muddled brain momentarily and she began to struggle against the sheets being placed over her.
"Stop moving," barked another voice. A rough hand pushed her down again, keeping her from moving. Yet again she did so but less willingly. "We need to get started soon. Is he on his way?"
From across the room, the sound of a door creaking open reached her ears. Footsteps shuffled back, allowing the newcomer closer access to the bed. Fabric brushed against her hand, and then a cold, slender finger touched her cheek. Involuntarily, she withdrew from the foreign touch, hate pushing back the fog again.
"You are sure she is the one? I cannot stand for anymore setbacks," a frigid voice said.
"Yes my Lord, all of it points to the Mudblood," squeaked a voice from the end of the bed.
"Very well. Proceed."
A vial stopper popped open, the tinkling of metal against glass as the potion was stirred. More footsteps, moving toward the head of the bed. "Open your mouth," came the next command. Her brow wrinkled. She was not in the hospital wing; Madame Pomfrey didn't talk in such tones, so then why would she be taking a potion? Cold glass was pressed against her lips, and she raised a hand to push it away. "Open. Now." Fingers clamped down on her nose, blocking her airway. She gasped, gulping down air along with the foul mixture.
"My Lord, she is set for the incantation," the now retreating voice came.
A thin, pointed object pushed against her stomach through the multiple linens. No more light was shining through her docilely closed eyes and a slight chill set in. She shuddered at the air touching her exposed face and hands. Chanting started, loud and harsh against her ears at first then receding into a soft sound like waves. A final shrill voice shouted, "Conceptio gravido."
At first coldness swept from the point of the object, coursing through every vein and nerve. She shivered and twitched causing limbs to entangle in the bed sheets. As suddenly as the sensation came, it departed. Her body began to relax again. Then a piercingly hot pain burst in her abdomen, blazing up with a fierce force. The last thing she remembered was gripping the sheets in pain and the agonizing scream that escaped her lips.