Her mind was a library, overflowing and filled with knowledge both liberating and choking.
Arrayed with candles, it was bright, if secretive. But a cold wind had snuffed them out and now shadows crept along its walls. In the middle of it, she sat, shivering in the dark. The library coiled itself up.
As the years crept on, the boards of the walls thickened to cancel out all noise. No cadence found its way to her and the banshees' howl couldn't be heard. It was silent; beautifully, suffocatingly, silent, like a familiar tomb. She lay there long, sometimes shouting and pounding at the horrible, terrible, wonderful walls.
They weren't real.
Sometimes she knew that and she was Hermione again. She could look in the one mirror and command her tears to dry, be responsive (in a way) to Fluer's requests for her to eat, maybe take a book down from the shelf. Maybe it would go on for days, and they'd talk about her going to see someone, moving forward, and she would heartily agree. Waking up then, the walls would surround her, and Hermione was gone.
It was just the dusty, dark, little attic library.
The walls began to thicken to a point of breaking. She felt the next layer burgeoning the boards, she screamed, and they cracked.
I can see.
YOU ARE READING
𝕴𝖗𝖗𝖊𝖑𝖊𝖛𝖆𝖓𝖙
FanficCo-written with IZ!!! @seaotter17 on ao3 𝕴𝖗𝖗𝖊𝖑𝖊𝖛𝖆𝖓𝖙 is a collection of one shots about time. Craving it, regretting how it was spent, wishing to have more. These characters from J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter are all under the power of time.
