THE SYMMETRICAL TRANSIT (DRAMOINE) BY EVERYTHURSDAY

Part 1

Day One; 11:17pm

Hermione's foot caught on an irregularity on the stairs, and the panting of her breath in her ears stopped on a gasp. Her hand flew for a railing, but found none in the darkness surrounding her, and the warning level in her brain shot up another notch. There was this gut-clenching long second of unknowing, arms flailing and bones rigid for balance, before she toppled.

She landed on her side, stairs catching her head, under her arm, in her ribs, her hip, and her knee. Hitting her in all her bony spots, because her night was just going that way. She slid halfway down the staircase before finally coming to a stop, her whole side blowing up with hot pain. Cradling her underarm, she leapt to her feet like movement could help at all, and bit her lip as she winced, and bounced, and humphed.

There wasn't time to coddle herself though, and as soon as the heat moved to an ache, she moved on. Her breath was coming harder now, despite the short reprieve from running, and she could swear that those short gasps for air were the loudest thing she had ever heard.

She had lost count of the number of steps she had taken so far, which was the only thing that helped her keep her head from giving way to everything. Hermione had a really big imagination at times, and if she allowed herself to think she would start hearing more things closer to her, and seeing shadows move beside her. It wasn't the time to be afraid -- she had to keep her cool.

Twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, and on twenty-six the pain in her ankle seemed to double up and try to freeze her muscles from moving.

There was something warm and thick sliding down the side of her face, and she knew without question that it was blood. Her face and neck were covered; the blood was dripping off her jaw, falling to soak the collar of her shirt. If she thought about it, she would realize she was dizzy, and must have lost quite a bit by now. She was also tired, and sweat was coated all over her skin. So much so on her thighs that she almost thought she had let herself go.

Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine, and she wobbled on forty.

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