Chimera

Chapter 22

Hermione had been tired the last few days, but on Tuesday she barely had the energy to get out of bed.

She trudged through her morning routine, driven by force of habit alone. Crookshanks mewed plaintively as he wove between her heavy limbs, reminding her to fill his bowl. Each morsel hammered onto her ears as it hit the metal sides. Crookshanks purred and rubbed his head against her ankle before pouncing on his breakfast. Hermione opened her mouth to respond but her voice came out in a squeak. Nightmares had ripped screams from her throat all night, leaving her hoarse. A fleeting thought rose from the depths that it was good she had silencing charms on her bedroom.

Pushing away the memories that haunted her dreams, Hermione thudded the bag of cat food onto the counter. She needed to rest before putting it away; her arms felt like they were wrapped in Devil's Snare. It was also harder than usual to lift down her morning potion. The bottle caught against the edge of the shelf and slipped from her numb fingers. She watched it fall in slow motion. The glass smashed, scattering shards across the kitchen. A long sigh forced its way past her lips. She couldn't bring herself to care.

Crookshanks crept closer, sniffing at the silvery liquid dripping onto the tiles. He hissed and retreated from its icy smell. Groaning with the exertion, Hermione leaned down to pick up the broken pieces. A sharp stabbing cut into her palm, streaking it with bubbles of red. Hermione whimpered. Her teeth dug into her lip to keep her from crying out.

Cradling her hand, Hermione sank to the floor. She rocked forward, resting her forehead on her knees. Her shoulders shook with wet, noisy sobs that soaked her trousers. Crookshanks minced past the spilled potion and shattered glass. He butted her elbow with his face until he could edge his head under her arm. Hermione clung gently to him, burying her wet cheeks into his fur.

Once her crying subsided to a sniffle, Crookshanks jumped up onto the counter. Her wand clattered to the floor in a shower of sparks. He daintily leapt down after it. Hermione's lips twisted into the ghost of a smile and she vanished the mess.

"What would I do without you, hey?" Hermione whispered, scratching behind his ears. Crookshanks purred loudly in reply.

The throbbing in her palm forced Hermione to her feet. She ran her hand under the cold water, watching the blood swirl away. Balancing her wand in her left hand, she clumsily healed herself. A jagged pink line remained.

After splashing her face with water, Hermione's mind felt a little clearer. She turned to look at the space where her medication had been. She frowned as she tried to remember when she last took it. Saturday, maybe? It had somehow got missed in the stress of her job application.

The darkness the potion held at bay had curled its claws into her mind over the last few days, latching onto every insecurity and painful memory. Now she had recognised she was having a depressive episode, Hermione could start the coping techniques Dr Gallagher showed her. She closed her eyes and took several long, deep breaths. Feeling a little calmer, Hermione managed to identify and distance herself from it all.

Although she still felt lethargic, she was able to push through the fog to keep going. Hermione quickly penned a note to Mr Singh and tossed it through the Floo Network. She grabbed a cereal bar and her coat, then apparated to Diagon Alley.

The pharmacy windows were dark, and a brightly coloured CLOSED sign hung lazily on the door. Hermione growled and started to pace as she waited. She worried that if she stopped, the rapidly encroaching gloom would take hold of her again.

After what felt like an eternity, but her watch cheerily confirmed was only twenty minutes, a light clicked on deep inside the shop. Hermione stopped still, her hands thrust inside her pockets against the November air. With an agonising slowness, more lights illuminated the shelves of potions and the healer's shadow was seen moving around.

"Hurry up," Hermione groaned, angrily rubbing her frozen cheeks. She stamped her feet to get some feeling back into them.

"Morning!" The healer chirruped, a smile creasing across her young face as the door swung open. "You're here early!"

"Dropped my medication," Hermione muttered, pushing her way into the shop. She rifled through her handbag and handed her prescription to the witch.

"Ah," she tutted, "these things happen. I'll have this ready for you in a jiffy."

"Thank you," Hermione said, forcing her lips into a smile. She felt her last vestiges of energy draining away with the effort of forced interaction.

Hermione perched on the edge of a chair near the window while she waited. A shrill, tuneless whistling came from the back room. The clock over the counter showed she should have been at work fifteen minutes ago. She beat her fingers against her thigh, resisting the urge to tap her feet. She absently toyed with one of her curls, sighing when she remembered she'd missed wash day. Hermione mentally added that to her ever-increasing list of things to do.

A radio screeched into life in the back, though the healer's accompanying whistling was no more identifiable as music than before. Hermione dropped her head into her hands, a dull pounding forming behind her eyes.

Time ticked onwards, each judder of the minute hand wearing heavily on Hermione. Outside, Diagon Alley started to slowly get busier. A child's shrieking laugh pierced her eardrums.

"Here we are!" The healer trilled, carrying a paper bag in her hand like it was treasure.

Hermione dug into her purse to pay for the potion and hurried out of the shop. Her cheeks hurt from faking a smile. She apparated to the Ministry, and almost ran through the halls to the office.

"You're late," Draco commented as she rushed in, half out of breath.

"Oh, shut up."

Hermione didn't see his raised eyebrow. Her attention was focused entirely on pouring out a dose of medicine, which she quickly threw down her throat. She relished in the feeling of her mind clearing, pushing back the mists and uncurling the claws of depression.

"You ok?"

Draco's forehead wrinkled in concern and his grey eyes searched her face. The quill in his hand hovered in the air, dripping ink onto the desk. Hermione smiled at him, a more natural movement of her muscles by the second. She loved how quickly the magical medicine worked compared to the muggle version. Though, as her recent episode reminded her, all magic comes with a price and the relapse was as swift as the relief.

"Fine, yes, sorry I'm late. Did I miss anything?"

Taking the hint, Draco silently handed her the day's stack of reports to look through.