The Implications of Forever

Mind Ward

——Chapter 5: Mind Ward——

Hermione awoke in an unfamiliar place—she knew this without opening a single eye. She immediately became aware of the pounding sensation in her head, like the beating of a drum against the walls of her skull and the back of her eyeballs. She was certain that opening her eyelids would begin a chain reaction, and her brain would simply implode. So she kept her eyes tightly shut, and tried to use her other four senses to determine the level of danger she was in.

The air was cold and sterile—the scent of cleaning potions and ammonia overwhelmed her senses with every inhale. It burnt her nostrils and quickened the pace of the drum in her head.

She then discerned she was laying flat on her back. There was a hard, unforgiving surface beneath her body, pressing against the length of her spine. She tried to imagine what laying on wood would feel like, and determined that couldn't be the answer. Rubber, likely . Perhaps a mattress.

She dared to test the digits of her right hand to grasp the mattress beneath her. From the tips of her fingers to the nape of her neck, her muscles groaned at the movement, as if atrophied from unuse. She dug her nails into the material nonetheless. It was a coarse fabric, which snagged the tips of her nails as they scraped against it.

She decided she must be laying on an unwelcoming bed with equally unwelcoming sheets. Not overly dangerous. But where? Without her sight, she could only make an educated guess. Perhaps a hospital ward. Had she injured herself? She couldn't remember.

Oh fuck. She couldn't remember anything.

Hermione attempted to sort through the file cabinets in which she organized her memories to determine what events had led her here—wherever here could be. It took her a great deal of effort to ignore the distracting sensation of the bombs detonating inside her cranium, but she found one memory that could be of use, and attempted to connect it to another, then another, to form a reasonable timeline. First came Italy, the bookstore... she instinctively shuffled past Draco, until she realized he would unfortunately be of use.

Our system detected seventeen trackers and twelve listening devices scattered around the city, all with relation to your magical signature.

Why did you come, of all people?

I have insight on the situation.

Hermione saw his blank face. She winced. But the timeline wasn't complete.

I came of my own accord.

You're import—

No, not that, she thought.

The entire wizarding world... They've been looking for you for years.

She'd been missing?

Every time I go to sleep—

No.

I hear you screaming—

Stop.

"That's enough." She muttered to herself, throat straining to make a sound. She paused, stiffening, to wait for anyone who could've heard her. After a few moments of silence, filled only with the soft hum of some sort of air machine, she continued.

She'd been in danger. That was useful. She'd been missing. Draco—he'd come to save her. There'd been some conversation. She didn't need any of that.

Then came Harry.

Hermione. Gods, you could have died.

I'm fine Harry!

No you're bloody not!