The Power of Pain

Chapter 1

Five years, it had been five years since the battle of Hogwarts. Five years for the students who had suffered that day to move on with their lives. To love, to laugh, to marry. Five years since that fateful day that left the brightest witch of their age confined to a bed at St. Mungo's spell damage ward.

It had been 6 months since Hermione had managed a visitor. Even her closest friends had found it too painful to see her wasted frame any longer. Their eyes that had shone with so much hope with every visit had finally been extinguished to a dull pain. A sense of helplessness had descended upon their shoulders. The healers too, it would seem, had developed the same sense of foreboding. Today, however, was a special day. It was a day that always guaranteed a visitor. The soft click of hard heels on the cold stone of the hospital floor caused the attending healer to look up from his charts. He gave the tall figure a soft smile and slowly stood.

"Any changes?"

"Nothing positive, Professor." The healer slightly inclined their head in respect.

The Professor slowly exhaled through their nose, "Any new information about her condition?" They spoke as they made their way down the dimly lit corridor. It was nearly 1 hour past visiting hours. The floor was eerily silent due to the many charms keeping the tortured cries and imbecilic ramblings confined to the rooms.

"We have actually wanted to try something new that was just recently invented by a past student of yours." The healer said with a sad smile, "Though we're unsure of what the results will be..." The healer turned his eyes to the cold door handle in his grasp.He had done this jobs many years buy even so, the loss of hope still weighed heavy on his heart.

"Which student was this?"

"Mr. Malfoy." The healer's tone hinted his own surprise.

The room was crisp and clean like everything else in the hospital. A small dresser on the far wall held years old get-well cards and decaying treats from unwitting do good wishers. An old chair sat adjacent to the bed looking just as unused as the rest. Center of the room sat a white four iron posted bed that held a frame that could barely be identified any longer.

Time had taken its toll on the occupant. Hermione's long beautiful hair was a deep ashen brown tied tightly in a braid that had grown so long that it actually fell slightly over the side of the bed. Her face held a permanent look of concentration, even in sleep it would appear as if she was concentrating on a complex problem. The lines having had grown gaunt as she lost more and more weight. Her arms rested down at her sides over the cover, her fingers long and almost skeletal; they would twitch from time to time as if turning the pages of a book. Her chest rose and fell slowly. Though one would be hard-pressed to call her a woman, even at her age. The curse's effects having decayed all but the most vital of bodily forms. The periwinkle blue hospital gown looked well oversized against the sheets.