The End Is The Beginning Is The End

Hermione was paralyzed by fear.

For a full five minutes she simply sat still, her book frozen, her outrage at his arrogance….all forgotten.

Because he succinctly and clearly communicated his reason for coming: he was going to hurt her again, if she did not speak.

If I just tell…

Hermione felt her stomach turn, the sudden nausea coupled with her feelings of anxiety were overwhelming.  The room spun and her vision darkened.

Without warning, her body jerked and she leaned over chair, retching onto the tiled floor.  She threw up her lunch and what was probably her breakfast, and because the smell and site of vomit made her sick, she felt herself throwing up again.

Hermione stumbled out of her chair and across the room. She was going to pass out.  She couldn’t breathe.

She needed to get out of here.  She needed to escape.

But she didn’t have a wand.

She felt herself sag to her knees, wiping up traces of bile with the back of her hand and the feeling of hopelessness was almost overwhelming.

What she had suffered…no, survived…was unimaginable. 

Looking around her room, she began to laugh.  It was quiet at first, then louder.  Min, who stood by the door, both as guard and as servant, shifted uneasily.

‘Is mistress not feeling well?  No good?’

She laughed and laughed, falling over.  Not feeling well?  She hadn’t been right, nothing had been right, since everything collapsed years ago.  Nothing would ever be well.  She would never be well. Jesus Chris this was hysterical!

She was shaking so hard, and it was several minutes before she even realized that her vision was blurred, and that tears were running down her face.

How long had she been crying?

Hermione curled into  a ball and cried and cried, not because she was afraid but because it just wasn’t fair.  Why had these things happened?  Who was going to make it right?  Was she going to make it out of her alive?

And most of all she cried for her stupidity, because she couldn’t tell, even though everything in her screamed to do the smart thing.  Because if she told, she would lose her value, and he would kill her.  If she told he would kill her friends, as flawed and as imperfect as they were, they didn’t deserve to die.

She didn’t deserve to die.

It just wasn’t fair, and she didn’t understand why it had come to be this way.