Popular Monster | Tomione

Chapter 11: Not Gonna Die

This is how it feels when you're bent and broken
This is how it feels when your dignity's stolen
When everything you love is leaving
You hold on to what you believe in
~Skillet, "Not Gonna Die" ~

~Malfoy Manor, 13th July 1943, Friday~

Hermione woke up with a fever. Or at least she felt like she was on fire and the whole world was freezing. She was sweating underneath a huge mountain of blankets that reminded her of the time she had caught a cold when she was at the Burrow. They were de-gnoming their garden when she might have worn a jacket that was too light for this season and freezed when the sun disappeared. Hermione didn't even notice that she was cold, she was so concentrated on finding and throwing the gnomes. Always giving everything no matter what she did and always secretly competitive to be the one who contributed the most.

Molly was quite intimidating when she first refused to lay down and let her pamper her back into health, so after recovering from the shock of being yelled at, she complied and got buried underneath layers upon layers of hand-made patchwork blankets, earning her some pitiful looks from Ron. Molly's blankets smelt of toffee, pomegranate and fresh apple pies as well as her washing detergent. It smelt of home.

But something was off. The blankets were too soft and the fabric too slippery, they were too heavy and they smelt too clean. Hermione frowned when she didn't hear the wind whispering ancient and unheard secrets to the wooden planks of the Burrow. There was no feisty yet protective red-haired momma bear cooking turkey in the kitchen. And there were no friends, no laughter, no Harry and Ron and...

"Hello darling, how are you feeling?", asked a sweet and calm voice.

Hermione opened her eyes and saw a beautiful woman with blonde hair smiling down at her. She put a tray on the small table beside her bed and sat on the sheets before gently touching her forehead with the backside of her hand. Her skin was soft and refreshingly cool against her sweaty forehead.

"Oh my, you're having a temperature. Trinity, please, could you grab me that blue vial in that cabinet?"

Hermione's eyes traveled to the old house elf standing beside the aristocratic looking woman. The little elf wore a decent dress, nothing too nice but no lumps either. Have purebloods once been nice to their servants in the Forties?

"Could- could I have some water, please?", Hermione said with a rough voice.

"Of course, you need to drink a lot of fluids", she said and helped Hermione sit upright before putting a glass of water in front of her lips. Hermione reached out and wanted to take the glass from her hands when she found that she was too weak to lift her arms.

"Easy, honey. You're still recovering. Please let me help you."

Hermione nodded as she parted her lips and greedily drank. The cool water flowed down her throat and finally woke her up.

"What day is it?", she asked, hoping to receive more information than just the week day.

"It's Friday the 13th, my dear." She could work with that.

"I don't want to be rude, I have sampled your hospitality for much too long, Madame. Could you..."

"Oh no, darling, I insist on you staying here as soon as you recover from your magical exhaustion."

Just on cue, a jabbing pain bore into her abdomen and caused her to bend over, covering her stomach and let out a whimper.

"Please, Trinity, call Doctor Zabini! There is something wrong!"

The pain was as sharp as a knife, a knife that was shoved into her body. Hermione tried to breath evenly through the pain. "Pain... Killer", she managed to get out between two breaths.