Chapter Text
The line between dreaming and reality stretched thin.
Flashes of memory and bits of conversation just out of earshot; someone once known but now forgotten; frantically writing scraps of information and memorised facts as ink disappears into parchment; faces twisting in a funhouse mirror until they become someone new; the tune of a primary school song floating on the air, mind twirling like the ring of children singing it, falling down, unable to get back up.
Heart pounding as she gasped for breath, the feeling of her scratchy wool blanket and thin camping cot grounding her, Hermione was used to waking up from unsettling dreams. She’d listen for the sounds of Harry’s breathing and Ron’s soft snores, using them to steady her own heart and lungs.
Lying in the dark, she’d review all the things she knew for certain. She would list the horcruxes they knew about, the ones they had already destroyed: diary, ring, locket. She would list the ones they suspected: something from Hufflepuff, something from Ravenclaw, Voldemort’s great snake, Nagini. She would push away the thought that she should add Harry to the list.
She would tell herself the tales of Beadle the Bard. She would tell herself the Muggle fairy tales of her childhood. Evil witches and cackling stumps. Good fairies and cold warlocks. Hopping pots and pumpkin carriages. Once upon a time, good triumphed over evil, love reigned supreme. And they all lived happily ever after.
But now, Hermione couldn’t be sure when she had last woken up. The line that delineated dreaming from reality had stretched thin; her dreams floating into wakefulness and the things she saw when she was awake drifting into her dreams. She wasn’t sure the border hadn’t snapped altogether, leaving her in a wasteland of unreality.
Sometimes she could feel the caustic burn of Bellatrix Lestrange’s curses rolling through her body. Other times Hermione felt frozen, unable to move as she watched Harry and Ron’s faces disappear in a cloud of crystal dust; her brain forgetting to send the signal to breathe until her lungs demanded a renewal of oxygen. Air flowed in, filling her lungs until they ached. Air flowed out, leaving her empty and alone.
Alone.
Back at Hogwarts, Hermione had enjoyed being alone. Often the bustle of the common room left her feeling overwhelmed and drained. The quiet sanctuary of the library gave her room to breathe. Air flowing in and out. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Here, in this strange netherworld between wakefulness and dreams, being alone felt sharp, a piercing iciness over her heart. The cold loneliness wavered like a stormy day; biting like a brisk wind, dark clouds churning, a chill rain dampening everything. Sometimes she was sure she felt someone nearby, like warm sunlight bursting through the clouds, dazzling over the damp world, but never quite standing still.
The first thing Hermione could definitely recall was sunlight. Sunlight reflecting in a strange pattern over a smooth stone wall. Golden hair glowing, backlit against the harsh glare of a bright window.
The next time she woke, her vision was murky and the sound of rain pounded on the window panes. She leaned in to the feeling of a warm hand against her chilled cheek.
When she next blinked, the light had a diffuse quality to it, a soft flatness just before the sun rose properly in the sky.
Hermione’s first thought was that she was alone. Harry and Ron were gone; Dobby had appeared out of nowhere, whisking them away with him, leaving her behind. And now she was alone. Blinking back tears, Hermione tried to sit up. She turned and startled to find the wide eyed face of Luna Lovegood staring back at her.