now.

It comes in waves.

First, the sound of drizzling rain on stones. The steady hum of the wind rustling through trees. The hardness of the ground pressing into her back. The slow rise and fall of another human's breathing at her side. The tickle of a woollen blanket keeping her warm in the cold.

If she could feel pain, it was a low burn beneath the thick, foggy blanket of some potions that kept her alive and the rusty burn of flesh and bones knitting themselves back together.

Water is dripping in the background and it keeps her focused on the here . When she opens her eyes, everything blurs in front of her. Someone is at her side in an instant, pushing a bottle between her lips. She drinks greedily.

"Easy."

The voice is male. Thickly layered and smooth like velvet.

He puts the bottle away.

Hermione feels strong hands and fingers pushing her up until she sits. When she opens her eyes again she can recognize the outlines of Hogwarts' library - or what is left of it. Bookshelves are split and stones are scattered all over. Torn pages, burned parchments, ripped leather-tomes. A big hole flaunts on one wall, wide open for the rain to enter. In one corner a fire flickers; the warmth of it bleeds slowly into her numb body.

"Took you long enough," someone says at her side. The boy is young, probably her age. He's handsome enough, even with dirt and grease smearing over his cheeks. It looks as if he tried to wash them off a while ago, but the dirt still clings to some places. Something about him looks strangely familiar, but she can't quite pinpoint what it is.

"Where am I?" she asks, throat scratching over razor-sharp vowels. Her throat burns brutally.

"Hogwarts. The remains of the library, to be exact."

She looks around and the movement makes her dizzy. The world around her is grey and dull and washed-out. A painful groan leaves her lips.

"I didn't know if you were going to wake up," the boy says and pushes long, wet strands of dark hair out of his face, making it even more angular. Grey eyes, arrow-straight nose. "You lost a lot of blood and half of your bones were crushed. Several fractures and internal bleeding from the fight. You were lucky I could find a couple of skelegro flasks in the infirmary. The concussion will stay for another day though. You shouldn't move around too much. " The boy looks at her with a critical glance and flickers his eyes once over her appearance.

"How long was I out?" Her ribs protest when she tries to stand up. He watches curiously but doesn't stop her. As if he'd wait for her pain to take hold of her. When she doesn't manage she lets out a frustrated sigh and keeps sitting on the dirty mattress.

"Five days."

"Five days?" she croaks, the weakness of her voice scaring the life out of her. Breathing becomes instantly harder. How much did she miss? What happened? Where are Harry and Ron?

She's too busy worrying about the war, her friends, her family for Merlin's sake when the pain in her head swells to an unyielding crescendo and a long hand snatches her wrist. She tries to rip it free but he keeps an adamant hold on her; firm enough to keep her in place but not enough to bruise.

"Your pulse is speeding up. You need to calm down." He lets go of her wrist and pushes the bottle of tepid water into her hands again. "Drink. It will help."

"Who are you?" She stares up at him but does as she is told. The water is clean and tastes sweet like apples. She swallows in large gulps. Her eyes fly from the carefully manufactured pleasantry of his face to his long, bruised fingers. "I've never seen you before."

His face is curiously blank. His mouth does not so much as twist while he stares at her impassively, calmy. He doesn't answer her at first. Then he reaches for the bottle, puts it away and clears his throat.

"My name is Tom. Tom Riddle."

Horror makes room inside her bones. Hermione doesn't flinch, or grimace, or scowl. She doesn't react much at all, which she figures is probably the textbook definition of a victory.

"Murderer," she croaks while her eyes fall shut and she slowly sinks back onto the dirty mattress beneath her. She tries to get up again but her legs feel heavy. They don't move. A profound calm overcomes her that is deeper than the bottom of the sea. It embraces her completely.

"You really think I've gone all the way to rescue you, just to kill you?" He sighs, as if all the world's pressure pushes down on his shoulders. "How boring. I could have slit your throat five days ago. I could have left you to choke on your blood." Out of the corner of her eyes, she can see him moving away from her. "I'll give you a moment to let that sink in. For now, sleep."

She wants to lash out, if not with her hands and limbs then with her words. But her head is pounding and her mouth is painfully dry and there is a growing, nagging feeling inside of her telling her the bastard drugged her.

A Calming Draught, a voice tells her. No Drugs.

She's not sure if the voice is real or in her head.

There is nothing before and nothing after. There is silence, and cold, and the dull embrace of pain that follows her thoughts.

The dripping sound of the rain lulls her to sleep shortly after.