Obliviate

Flashback Two | Hunted

Hermione stared at George, completely frozen in time.

It was like the world had stopped spinning entirely. As if everyone around her had flipped into slow motion, whilst Hermione's mind raced with thoughts. The speed in which her mind was tracing through itself was overwhelming.

She felt like somebody had stolen her voice right from her. That the words she wished to speak had been locked away, with the key nowhere to be found.

George was Ursula - casting a spell that would take her voice away with a few simple words - and the fight she would have to put up to win would take the life out of her, just like Ariel.

Except, Hermione wasn't Ariel. She didn't have a tail and a magical prince to bring her body to shore when she drowned mercilessly under the hands of the Death Eaters.

"Are you sure?" She asked frantically after a long moment, her eyes flicking between George and Ron.

George looked in a state of shock. He took a took breath, slipping a hand into his pocket.

After what felt like forever, he spoke. Quiet enough that she could hear, but not loud enough to gather the full amount of his emotions.

"Yes, Hermione. I am one-hundred percent sure."

Silence.

Hermione scurried over to Ron, practically shoving Harry out of the way as she stood over him, strained tears running down his face.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered through the chaos, slipping her hand into his as she watched him desolately.

Ron was barely conscious. The deep oceans held within his eyes drifted ashore to Hermione's, connecting for a moment before they rolled back into his head and his arm went limp.

Hermione went into a state of panic. "Poppy - do you need anything? Anything at all?"

She could feel her own throat choking her as she held back her tears.

"There is more Essence of Dittany in the potions cupboard upstairs. It should temporarily fix the wounds, but I need to do some restorative magic to his bones."

Her tone was almost robot like. Hermione had let it completely slip by her that she must've been used to this, even before the war.

After all, it had been quiet for months.

"Of course," Hermione replied.

Gently, she slipped her hand from Ron's and turned heavily on her heels, darting out of the room and heading straight for the stairs. One by one, the sound of her feet connecting with the wooden slats echoed throughout the hall, matching the drumming of her heart.

"Dittany..." she mumbled to herself as she paced through the second floors narrow hallway to the door furthest back. Hermione couldn't move fast enough.

She swung the door open, eyeing each bottle carefully, but quickly. "Come on," she said with fright.

After what felt like forever, she grabbed the bottle that seemed to be the last one she had looked at between her fingers, wrapping them tightly around the glass as if she was never going to let go.

Hermione felt like her ear drums were about to burst.

Hurrying back down the stairs, she handed the bottle to Madam Pomfrey, letting the Dittany slip from her grasp.

"Thank you, Hermione. Molly and I will take it from here." Her eyes scoured the room, from Harry, to her and back to George.