Deep Bruises of War (Finnished)

III Morning sickness

When the doors to her quarters finally closed behind her, Hermione suddenly felt a slight wave of relief. It was meant to be her room now. Her place to live, her own little castle. She looked around curiously. She was standing in a small living room with a brownish wallpaper, buff-coloured sofa, and where all other furnishings had been kept in this awful colour-scheme. She was not a good decorator, but the look of the room reminded her that of the vomits of someone too greedy for chocolate cake. She promised herself to change it a little later. Now the girl was too exhausted to cast even a few simple charms.

Besides the exit into the school corridor, there was a second door. As she suspected, behind them she saw an equally ill-decorated room to the previous one. Too tired to watch the depressing chocolate carpet and beige bed curtains, she laid on the pillows and immediately fell asleep.

It was dark. Too dark for her to see anything. The daylight was gone. It felt strangely familiar, but Hermione couldn't recall what exactly it was. She was frightened. In the darkness, she heard someone's husky breath and a shriek of a woman which abruptly went silent after a slapping sound. There was a sob. Somewhere, but she couldn't point the right direction. The girl stood confused and petrified by fear. She started to weep. Then a cold hand touched her shoulder and she felt unbearable pain which sent her mind to the oblivion.

Then she was awake again. It was dark. Her clothes were soaking wet from sweat. Her face covered with tears. It was dark, but she was safe. She knew it. But she couldn't feel safe anymore. Her body was cold and shaking, both from fear and chill. She stepped from bed, vanished her clothes with the wand and went to the bathroom door. The hot shower always gave her a little relief. She massaged her strained muscles and drank some water. Her curled hairs finally gave up to the streams of fluid falling on her head and straightened up. It always made her smile. The victory over these bushy things growing over her forehead made the witch happier every time in her life. The number of charms and hexes she had to put on them to make them look at least civilized, was not worth her everyday time. It was the issue for special occasions only.

Eventually, she put herself together and sat on the bed to read. It was the middle of the night but she gave up resting. The sleep was no good to her now. She will have to ask Snape for some Sleeping Draught. Or brew it herself if he let her. She smirked. The man was absolutely crazy about his laboratory, she knew it damn too well. She had seen the unpleasant view he'd given her several times during the meeting they'd had in headmistress office yesterday. He was not only displeased by her to intrude his everyday life but seemed a little humiliated too. Hermione was nothing but angry about their forced relationship. In contrary to them, McGonagall was rather happy. If it was for her to judge, the girl wouldn't be surprised if the old witch had some hidden motives to play with them so cruelly. Snape was a broken man. Not fully dead, not really alive. She was dying inside. Her soul was broken, her mind always uneasy. Hermione suffered not only from bad dreams but also had panic attacks during the day. The witch never spoke with anyone about it, too embarrassed to talk about her private sorrows to others. They all were doing surprisingly fine, while she was struggling to survive every single day.

When the sun rose and the time of breakfast already came, she was little hungry but went to the Great Hall anyway. Snape was there, sitting at his usual place, a chair away from Minerva. There was a lot of free space beside the teachers' table, but Hermione had a bad filling, that Headmistress had a special one dedicated to her.

As it turned out, the girl was right. When the young witch approached them, Minerva waved her hand and pointed to the chair next to her smiling kindly. Hermione sighed and took her steps to the right side of the Transfigurations Professor.

"Have you slept well, my dear?" the woman asked with concern.

"Yes," Hermione answered as polite as she could.