the sun, the moon, the truth | DRAMIONE || dark & gritty

03 || Four of Swords

F O U R  O F  S W O R D S - contemplation, reservation

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The next day Hermione felt a little better, probably because the potion she took for the pain was doing its work. With Ron's help, she managed to stand up and could so with little pain. Being isolated in one room for three total days – and seven more months before that she had no memory of – with only Ron for company meant that she was going to leave this room today or lose the remainder of her marbles.

Ron usually took her to the toilet, but this time she wanted to do it herself. After she managed that, she went to the separate bathroom.

"Let me know if you need anything or if you start feeling like you're going to faint," Ron told her. "I'll be waiting just outside."

"Okay," Hermione called out. She felt a little faint but believed she could manage this simple task. Everything was fine until she looked in the mirror and saw her own reflection.

She didn't even recognize herself. For a single moment she believed that the woman before her was someone who died a violent death. Then she recognized her curls, now matted and dull, her freckles, almost hidden by the bruises on her face – it bore bruises resembling a thoroughly battered apple. It was almost impossible to tell the color of Hermione's complexion. Her eyes were blood-shot with dark grey circles underneath. The skin that was visible seemed ghastly pale in contrast, almost translucent. She had lost a lot of weight, her entire body now revealed prominent bones.

Hermione shivered. She could've cried if she knew how. She touched her bruised cheek and flinched from the pain. Washing up was hard, but she did as much and as best she could, trying to distract herself from what she looked like.

She let Ron help her downstairs, still feeling a little shaken-up, but a bit better, cleaner maybe. Or maybe not. No cleansing would ever fix the damage that was done to her.

She heard a child's laugh coming from behind her, rousing her from her nightmarish thoughts. A little boy passed them on a toy broom without giving them a second glance, and Hermione followed him together with Ron. That led them into the kitchen where Harry grabbed his son from the broom, saying to the whining boy, "James, you can keep playing after we all have lunch, okay?"

James was a small copy of his father with his disheveled black hair that listened to comb nor scissors. The only differences were that he didn't have a scar, and his eyes were bright brown, not green like Harry's.

For James this certainly wasn't okay because he started whining even louder. Harry sighed, and then saw that Hermione had come to join them today – this conjured a smile on his face.

"Hermione, you're up," he turned to his boy. "James, remember aunt Mione, I told you so much about her? She's your godmother..."

James now saw Hermione too, and his eyes widened, his whole body leaned into his father, looking for safety. Of course, she probably looked like a monster for the little boy.

Still, Hermione tried to smile.

"Hey, James," she said. "It's so nice to meet you."

Her voice must've sounded better than she looked because James no longer stared at her with fear, he seemed curious. He didn't remember her, and she didn't remember him. In this, they were equals.

Harry sat James at the table while Ron helped Hermione to her seat.

"I see you're feeling better," Harry said. "Up and about already."

"Doing nothing is really tedious," Hermione said.

"Healing is not tedious, it should be your priority," Harry responded more seriously.