The Order has fallen. Voldemort has taken over, slowly enslaving the Wizarding World to each and every command. In the aftermath of the war, Hermione Granger has been enlisted as the Dark Lord's right-hand woman after she'd lost all hope on ever ave...
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May, 1997. One year before the Battle of Hogwarts.
Hermione shot up in bed with a crack. She could feel her pulse chugging through her body as she tried her best to calm her breathing, but to no avail.
Every single fucking night it was the same dream. A nightmare, even. Harry, dead. Killed by Lord Voldemort himself. And her, stuck.
Stuck in time. Frozen into place like a small fragment of the world, to become one with the earth around her. So that eventually, when everybody begun to move on, only Hermione would remain, and they all would've forgotten about her.
She shook her head desperately to hide the fear that was itching against her skin.
Hermione twisted her body in bed, rolling over to the cold side to cool herself down from the sweat she'd broken during her sleep. The low temperature of the mattress seeped into her nerves, shutting down her uneasiness as she stared absentmindedly into the dark abyss that surrounded her.
Hermione could just about make out the faint outline of the other beds in her room - Ron, a few metres away snoring into the night, and Harry, by the window in the corner breathing silently.
She looked over to the digital clock on her bedside table. 03:23am.
The red light emitting from the clock was burning into Hermione's eyes, permanently embedding it into her brain. She squinted hard, her eyes falling shut as she yawned, taking in all the oxygen her lungs could before she exhaled slowly, savouring every bit of air she could.
She didn't want to sleep. She wished she could stay awake forever, taking in each and every moment that life offered to her. That with courage and bravery, anything was possible. But only if she put her mind to it.
For in dreams, she couldn't control her own destiny. It was as if somebody were behind her, reading her a script and directing her on how to act, speak, move and how she did things. Hermione wished she could live through her life and not sleep through any of it.
She rested her tired eyes for a moment, rolling flat onto her back and shuffling into a starfish position under the covers. Besides Ron's obnoxiously loud snoring, the only thing that was to be heard in the room was the beating of Hermione's heart and the subtle sound of her blood pumping through her veins.
Eventually, that was drawn out too; by the sound of her mind travelling to another world. Her fictional fantasy, or dangerous downfall. There was no equal balance whenever she would slip out of consciousness.
When Hermione awoke the next morning, her mind and body felt sluggish.
Regaining consciousness, Hermione could feel the entire left side of her face squashed into her pillow, almost certain the creases from the pillow had imprinted themselves into her face. Slowly, she forced her right eye open, blinking hard a few times to adjust to the sudden switch of brightness around her.
