Chapter 11

****

https://youtu.be/wny1ojJli8k

****

Nothing has ever been clearly explained to her since the moment she hauled herself out of that long, long nightmare. There were many things she needed to centre her concerns on. Her mind was empty – an empty hollow of depth. There was nothing she could recall but the nightmares. Though she'd been awake for a while, everything around her still felt surreal. She struggled to feel the texture of the hospital cot she currently occupies. She struggled to recognize the ambience of the room she occupied. It felt like she was nothing but a floating ghost that lingered in the world of the living post her death.

Her heart raced as she lay there, eyes glossed with tears, staring at the white ceiling. The light was gentle, altered to the current state of her senses, yet her eyes still burned as she couldn't dare to blink, fearful that one blink might bring her back to that confusing nightmare where she came from. Hermione felt as if she would explode anytime.

She tried to analyze what Harry had said before her meltdown earlier. The war had been won years ago… where had she been? What had happened to her? How long was she asleep? Why was she asleep for a selfishly long time? Why was Malfoy's presence seemed tolerated than it should be? Why was he there when she woke up? Why was she even thinking of Malfoy?

Hermione ran her trembling hands to the messy curls of her curls, clutching tight on them, hopeful that the pounding in her head would relieve. Her heavy breathing turned to stifled whimpers until they turned into a painful groan. Hermione curled into a tight ball, striking her head with the heels of her palms, eyes shut close, and jaw shivering from the growing pain.

"Make it s-stop! Make- make it stop!" She cried in her fragile voice.

A set of arms embraced her, trying to hold her hands away from her face as she began to scratch her face, frustrated from the irritating ache in her head.

"Granger… Granger, calm down – "

Her body seemed to shut off the pain receptors in her the moment she recognized the voice, his touch, and the ambience that his presence gave off whenever he was close to her – all the pain was set aside efficiently, overpowered by fear mixing with indescribable rage crowding up in her chest.

She froze under his hold. His hands were firm on her wrists, but not too much to bruise her – his eyes were weary and seemingly painted with distress.

The colour on her face dripped off her. Her skin dropped colder as though the wild winter took the image of her body. Her lips trembled as her eyes shot open. Alert. Confused. Enraged. Scared.

She wanted to scream in his face. Spit the fact on his face that she loathed him. Express her overflowing hatred through anything she could do, but then again – he caught her in his arms. Tears were flowing freely out of her autumn eyes that she barely noticed.

As their sight met, she felt robbed with air as something tugged her interest in reading the expression on his face.

"Let me go!" Shrieked Hermione, forcing the word out as she tried freeing her wrists from his grip – his warm grip.

"Goodness, Mr Malfoy! I'm so sorry for the delay – there was an emergency in the lobby!" A healer entered, rushing towards Hermione and Malfoy with a tense apologetic look on her face.

"It's fine. I – uhm, can you check on her? I – I panicked, I didn't know what to do she was hitting herself. I tried to hold her while I was waiting for someone to check in on her."

Malfoy retreated from Hermione's bed, running his hands along his hair as though it was the only way to release the pent-up stress simmering inside him.

"What happened?" The healer asked as she waved her wand, casting a diagnostic charm.

"I was rearranging her books on the other side of the room. At first, she was peacefully staring at the ceiling. Pomfrey said she was adjusting, and it was partly because of the Calming Draught. Then she began to clutch her head, groaning in pain, and – she began hitting herself."

Malfoy paused, taking air in as he felt out of it.

The healer muttered a spell that was unfamiliar to her, and she felt her tensed body soothed down – but the storm of emotions remained. Her eyes began to feel heavy, and the voices around her began to fade into a soft distant echo. The discussion between Malfoy and the healer began to sound like a lullaby, drowning her in a forced shutdown.

"Was there something odd about her?" The healer's voice was an echo – a soft echo as though it came somewhere far away as if the discussion was not for her to hear.

Malfoy's reply then came along when her hearing became weak and his voice sounded like muffled underwater mumbles. Hermione tried to swim her senses upward to the surface, encouraging herself to hear more of it. She deserved to know about it. She deserved to understand what was going on.

"I wasn't sure if she was ignoring me earlier, or if she doesn't really know I was here. It was probably the potion – I'm not certain," Malfoy replied, sounding terribly worried.

More. More, say more.

She begged in her head as she fought the drowsiness.

"I recommend we consult another mind healer. Miss Granger's case is – I would say, bizarre. This isn't common at all Mr Malfoy," the healer replied, a hint of worry and sympathy tainted in her voice.

A hand squeezed hers gently.

She wanted to pull her hand away, but the spell on her was too heavy – overpowering her will to fight and struggle.

She felt a thumb caress her knuckles.

"After the consult with the mind healer tomorrow, I suggest we begin our physical therapy for Miss Granger the day after. She needs to improve her motor skills. We need to stimulate her brain function before we begin a thorough exploration of her condition. I am certain that Miss Granger is still in shock right now. She's still processing everything. After all, she'd been out for a long time…"

There was silence – a pause for silence.

The silence slammed her worries.

Talk! Talk! I want to listen!

She commanded loudly in her head.

"Yeah… She can't even recognize me," said Malfoy, sounding resigned and tired – a string of annoyance was swimming through the tones of his voice.

"I'm so sorry, Mr Malfoy, we're doing the best that we can…" The healer responded, sounding rather apologetic to Malfoy to which Hermione wildly wondered why was there such a tone in the healer's voice.

"Would it be possible if me to take her home? Perhaps familiar surroundings would help her remember things?" Malfoy suggested with a subtle desperation.

Hermione's chest hammered as though it was trashing its way out her ribcage. Why would he fucking ask that? Had the Order sold her to Malfoy during the war? What was going on? Hermione had no choice but to remain calm under the influence of the charm. Only if she could throw herself on the nearest wall and bang her head until Malfoy vanished again in her memory. Who in their right mind would want Malfoy in their heads? He'd been tormenting her throughout her coma – he'd been there in her nightmare, and to her disgraced and disappointed surprise, he was there in real life too – whatever real even means to her now.

"I can't suggest that, as of now, Mr Malfoy, we need to monitor her condition. As of now, she is unpredictable. She'll be safer here."

The voices faded as the darkness swallowed Hermione's consciousness.

She woke to the soft music playing inside her bedroom. A classical piece that sounded strangely familiar. Too familiar that a heavy load of nostalgia hit her. Her head turned left and right to search where the music could be playing from. Placed on top of the table in one corner of the room was a gramophone, playing a familiar classical piece.

Her eyes immediately scanned for the blonde man around the room. Relief soothed her up beating heart the moment she confirmed Malfoy wasn't there. No painful blonde view to her eyes, no excruciating voice of Malfoy was around, she was alone, and for some reason, she loved it. It was the first alone time she had for herself the moment she broke away from that long, long nightmare she had.

Hermione shifted a little bit and realized that the spell lifted from her body. She wiggled her toes, confirming if the spell actually lifted from her body and that she wasn't only imagining things. She opened and clasped her palms, trying to feel her strength.

The sunlight peeked over the draperies, luring Hermione to have a look over her window. She lay on her side, placing her hand under her cheek as she watched the fabric on her window glowed a little from the morning sunlight. Her other hand curled into a fist as she tried to resist the urge to dash toward the window.

Harry and Ginny might have confirmed that the war had been won years ago, but the war stayed fresh in her body and mind. She still felt physically and mentally tired from the war, as though she just fought on a battlefield yesterday. She wanted to shove the draperies to the side and devour the view outside, but the fear of being deceived was loud inside her head.

It was a peaceful sunny winter morning, but her mind was anchored to the fear from the past. Sunny winter morning, lifeless bodies were scattered all over the place, and some were buried in the thick snow. Scarlet red staining the white snow. A cruel representation of the war, bleeding the life out of the innocents.

The news of the war being won should comfort her. It was supposed to make her feel relieved and alive, but she felt otherwise.

Hermione's head began to sound loud again, thus she decided to console herself by settling to the idea that her troubled feelings were caused by the wound that the war carved in her.

She lay there in the same position for almost an hour and noticed that the music played on repeat. Curious, she forced herself to get off her bed and cruised the floor towards the gramophone. It took several attempts of walking smoothly until she decided to depend on the walls. She held her balance against the heated charmed walls, keeping her from freezing. Hermione felt thankful that there was a rocking chair next to the gramophone as her legs demanded time for rest.

Her legs shook from the sudden use of strength. She descended on the rocking chair, even struggling to settle in. Hermione reached for the gramophone. Her hands were careful and gentle as she gripped it. Her heart fluttered, realizing it was a muggle vinyl playing on the gramophone. She read the words printed on the muggle vinyl silently.

Canon in D Major – Johann Pachelbel

Her head ached due to a painful pulse inside her head. The gramophone nearly slipped from her grip as she flinched from the sharp pain. A painful grunt escaped her lips as she clutched a handful of her hair, hopeful to ease the tension and pulsing pain in her head. Her other arm grasped the gramophone tightly, holding it closer to her body.

The pain lasted for a couple of seconds, and it strained her body as it consumed her remaining strength. The soft music and the smooth rocking of the chair gently pulled Hermione to a deep slumber. She fell asleep in the rocking chair, holding the gramophone as though it was the most precious possession she had ever held after a long time.