When the Time Comes

Odd Appreciation

2

Cold flagstone.

That was the first thing to register in her thoughts even before her eyes opened. Her cheek was against cold flagstone, almost burning her flesh it was so frigid, while the rest of her body felt nailed to a similar substance, which after a moment's realization was the same stony material only its chill was dampened by the bundle of robes between them. If she didn't know better, she'd think her limbs weighed a ton a piece the way they pressed against the unforgiving floor.

Her left arm was pinned under her chest, her right hand mere centimeters from her face as she slowly came to enough to question where she was and how she got there. And what that painful sting was just below her left collarbone.

Opening her eyes, Hermione groaned, her vision blurry as she slowly put pressure on her right hand and lifted herself up to a sitting position, a faint tinkling and crackling noise accompanying her movement, but she ignored it. Freeing her left arm, she cradled it and winced at the tightness of her muscles from having been at such an awkward angle for... how long was it? A while, surely, judging by the silence of the Entrance Hall and the lack of more than torch and moonlight beaming in through the windows. Wasn't it a new moon though? No, she must be thinking of another week then, the thought that almost accompanied that question was just too preposterous.

But wait. Where were Harry and Ron? They wouldn't have just left her there, that she was sure of, but then why was she alone?

"Harry?" she said faintly, letting her left arm rest in her lap as she reached up with her right to try and rub her eyes into focus. The glow of the nearest torch seemed to act as a halo around ever shape she could make out. Perhaps she just wasn't seeing him.

No answer.

"Ron?" she asked now, a tinge of concern in her voice as she began squinting her eyes and looking around for either of them... or anyone for that matter, hiding in the shadows.

Still, no answer.

The whole thing was ridiculous. This was some odd dream or something as Harry or Ron would never leave her sprawled out on the Entrance Hall floor like this. It was ludicrous. But then, why was that damned stinging getting worse? Reaching up absentmindedly to rub the pain away, her fingers grazed her shirt and Hermione immediately let out a cry, lifting her hand to see smeared blood.

"Oh no," she gasped, frantically tearing at her robes and the accursed sweater to find her Time Turner. Moving away her shirt from just below her collar with her sore left hand, she felt the small tears in the blood dampened fabric as her right hand closed on its chain and pulled. There was a quick jolt of pain and she let out a cry as she pulled the entire chain out into view to find the broken glass of the top half had been imbedded in her flesh, its former golden gleam tainted red as she looked on in horror.

The top half... the thought hit her full force.

Reasoning and sense seemed to slap her all at once as her heart leaped to her throat and she quickly looked about her for the rest, throwing robes aside all around her in a panic until she uncovered the sandy gold and glass mix that had been her tinkling music only moments before, a horrible, glittering mess in the torchlight that acted to only light more fears in her mind.

What if...? No, she couldn't think like that. That possibility just wasn't something she even wanted to consider. This was a dream still... a very bad dream, but a dream nonetheless. Dreams could be controlled. If she'd concentrate hard enough, she could change it, wake up, something. Lucid dreaming wasn't that difficult, in fact it came in quite handy when the past several years of your life had been spent under the growing shadow of Voldemort. All she had to do was concentrate.

Closing her eyes, Hermione kept telling herself this. It was a dream. She was on a bed in the Infirmary, or her dorm, and she was just making the worse of a simple fall. She was worrying over nothing. She was... feeling like her stomach was about to lose all its contents.

Quickly covering her mouth, she moaned and willed herself not to vomit. The strange spinning feeling she barely recalled upon hitting the floor was creeping up on her and suddenly the chill of the flagstone was very inviting. Yes, that was it, maybe if she just lay back down, her stomach would settle and she'd awaken where she belonged. Slowly she began to lower herself to the floor.

"You there," came a voice from somewhere behind her, "are you well?"

Hermione kept her eyes closed and her mouth shut for fear of what might come out as she heard the footsteps behind her grow in both volume and speed. Propping herself up on only her left arm now, she longed to do nothing but lay down and make the spinning fade despite its disheartening desire to grow and overtake her.

Moving to lay down again, she felt hands grab her by the shoulders and prevent her from doing so. "You're not well," the voice announced concernedly. Somehow the voice was strange and oddly familiar at the same time. "Come, let's get you to the Infirmary."

At this point, had it not been for the hands holding her, she would have fallen back to the floor, and knowing they were supporting her thus kept her from offering any refusal. Only nodding slightly to agree, she let the hands turn into arms grabbing her and lifting her to her feet. Her legs ached and her head spinned as she stood. Opening her eyes she found her vision was far from as it should be and no sooner than she had felt ready to take a step and thank her kind assistant than she felt like her limbs were those of a marionette and the strings had suddenly been cut, leaving her to fall to the floor.

The spinning was a mad whirlpool now and she could do nothing to fight it. Hermione could feel her legs crumpling beneath her and all thought faded like mist as the arms around her struggled to keep their hold. Had she time to examine it, she would have found it odd that in that moment, she was strangely appreciative as all went black...