A/N: I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters
The world spun,
blurring every time she moved her head,
sitting perfectly still didn't really change anything
her eyes seemed to move on their own.
The lights were too bright,
there were more colors than she remembered existing.
The white parchment was too bright,
the black ink spot from where she'd spilled the inkwell was too dark,
it pulled her in,
pulling her attention from the spinning room.
How could something be so dark?
How could everything just be so much?
That's how he found her,
staring at the ink spot on his desk,
her head on the desk with her jumper as a pillow.
She blinked looking up at him,
sending the world spinning again.
He merely shook his head and lifted her from the wobbly wooden chair.
She wrapped her arms around his neck,
mumbling about the lights being too bright,
about the world being too much,
about the spinning, spinning of it all.
Spinning, spinning,
again the world spun as he carried her from the desk,
putting her in his bed, pulling the black bamboo sheets over her,
she wrapped her arms around one of his pillows,
pulling her knees to her chest.
He drew the drapes, darkening the room further
as she burrowed into the bed, the world no longer too bright,
the silence of the room echoing in her ears,
her own heart beat a drum in her ears,
steady and constant.
It lulled her to sleep.
He watched her close her eyes,
watched her body relax as she breathed through her mouth,
drooling slightly on his pillow.
Once he was sure she was asleep,
he left the blackened room,
her fingers curled around the sheets,
her curls splayed across the black pillowcase,
hoping she'd feel better in the morning,
but preparing to brew a migraine potion
just in case.