|Hermione Jean Granger (pl_hermione) wrote in plagued_rpg,|
@ 2010-02-14 11:00:00
|Entry tags:||1999 february, hermione granger, hogwarts: hospital wing, rating: pg13, ron weasley|
Who: Ron and Hermione
Where: The infirmary
When: Valentine's day, morning
What: Hermione wakes up
Rating: Most likely low?
Hermione sighed. She was so comfortable. The sun was shining down on her, she was warm, her limbs heavy from remaining still for so long. She didn’t want to wake up, but felt resolutely pulled towards it. Such a pity, she thought, that on the one day I don’t have Teddy fussing over my being asleep at sunrise, I’m not able to just go back to sleep.
Sighing again, Hermione opened her eyes. The ceiling looked the same, but she couldn’t see the bed posts. Where am I? Blinking slowly, Hermione turned her head to look beside her. A white curtain presented itself to her, blocking anything else from view. The infirmary. How did I get to the infirmary? She was starting to get a headache, and she closed her eyes, blocking out the light which had not, as she had previously thought, originated from the nearby window, but from a seemingly incredibly bright light mounted on the wall just over her head.
The last thing Hermione remembered was doing her rounds with Padma. What happened after that was a complete mystery to her for now. Though her heart pounded in her chest at the thought that she might have permanently forgotten, Hermione tried to relax; panic would solve nothing, and would certainly not help her remember. Still, the constant fear that some permanent damage had been done would not leave.
She didn’t know how she had gotten here, nor how long she had been here, but she had no intention of staying here any longer than necessary. Trying to push herself upright proved possible but incredibly uncomfortable as the world seemed to tilt from side to side when she did, as though she were on a boat, and Hermione slowly lowered herself back down. She may not have been in the position to remember what had happened to her, but she was still smart enough to know that the lightheaded feeling that came over her and the contents of her stomach (if it had contents) were probably not normal.
Exhausted, Hermione closed her eyes once again. Where was everybody? Surely someone had come to visit while she was in here. Had Harry or Ron been locked in here, she would have been at their side constantly, she told herself. So where were they? She hoped nothing else had happened in the school, something that would prevent the students from walking around; it would have to be another murder, and the students really couldn’t take another one of those. Soon, there wouldn’t be any students left!
But Hermione couldn’t hear the crying or whispering that always abounded after a death. Only silence. Why wasn’t anyone here? Why hadn’t anyone left her a card, something to let her know that they cared?
This is really it, isn’t it?, she asked herself, tears running out the corner of her eyes and into her hair. If Ron cared about me, he would be here. If he even noticed I was missing. But he’s not. Slowly rolling onto her side, Hermione brought her knees up to her chest and cried, her face pressed into her pillow.
For all that she had told herself over the past month that she didn’t care, that Ron could have his life, that she wasn’t going to be a part of it anymore if he didn’t want her, she truly had hoped. She had hoped that he would come around, that it was just a phase.
For all that she had told herself that she didn’t need him anyway and for all she believed it, Hermione didn’t want to test the theory. She didn’t want to be alone.