Tell Us Again, Please!

"Tell us again please!"

"Tell us, tells us!"

"Pwease, jus won tahm!"

"It is already past time for you lot to be in bed!" said a stern but kind voice.

"Pwease jus tewl us da storwee!" little Luka begged, eager to help his sisters win the battle.

"Again, again!" Adele echoed, jumping up and down, imitating as rabbit as she was often accustomed to doing. Her eyes were wide, her hair was bouncing, and her little teeth were all bared in the widest smile possible. Her childlike expression was the epitome of eagerness and joy, and that expression often held melting powers over the hearts of adults enforcing strict rules.

Indeed, the kind voice became even kinder at the pleaded requests. Her eyes softened, her head tilted, and if the children had been properly experienced in body language, they would have known that they had won.

"All right. I'll tell you the story tonight, but then it's straight off to bed!" she insisted.

"Yay!" A chorus of cheers erupted in the living room as the three children began to dance around and rush to get the best seat for story time. The kind voiced woman smiled all the more, put away her dish towel, and led the children toward the sofa.

The fire crackled warmly, warding off the winter's cold bite. The children were in their pajamas, and the middle of the three, Adele, tightly clutched her precious teddy bear. The two girls, Corrie and Adele, who happened to be the two oldest of the three children, climbed into the large, overstuffed arm chair and settled down happily together with a blanket and the teddy bear. Their baby brother, Luka, though no longer a baby, climbed merrily into the lap awaiting him and the arms that wrapped around him.

"All right, where shall I begin...? The young lady lay in the hospital bed at St. Mungo's, confused and alone-"

"Wha' abou' duh fy?" Luka asked from her lap.

"Yeah, what about the fight? The war?" Corrie repeated the inquiry.

"Tell da whole story!" Adele echoed her older sister's plea.

"Now, children, it's much too late. You know about the fight, and I'm not going to fill your minds with wars and fighting and battles right before you go to sleep! I'll begin in the hospital, or I won't begin at all!" she said firmly.

"Aw wite!"

"Okay, okay!" The children agreed that part of the story was better than no story.

"Okay," she sighed, beginning again. "The young lady lay in the hospital bed at St. Mungo's, confused and alone. She, in fact, didn't know that she was in the hospital at all. All she knew was darkness."

..:..

She had been in the hospital bed for the better part of a week. She, however, was unaware of the time, the days, or what had elapsed since her last memory. But she was lucky - lucky to have made it out of the final war, the war to end all wars. The was the Wizarding world hoped was the war to end all wars. But now, finally, she was beginning to awake from her inert unconsciousness.

To describe what it felt like to transcend from unconsciousness to consciousness was never something she ever learned to do. Simply put, she was aware that she was. She was existing. She was breathing, and she could hear and feel. Beneath her she felt a soft cushioning - what she had always associated with a mattress. She was in a bed. Atop her was scratchy, stiff material. She was covered with sheets. She could hear tapping and shuffling somewhere in the distance, muffled by some obstructive presence. She tried opening her eyes, but found it rather difficult. Something wasn't right. Where was she? What had happened?

A vision of a dark forest appeared in her mind. It was eerie and silent. A smell came flooding into her memories - the smell of still trees, and the smell of death. Only one who had seen Death could know the smell. Seeing a funeral or knowing a relative who had died did not in any way truly acquaint a person with Death. Death was an obtrusive, malodorous, finality that sunk to the core of one's being. But now, the smell of death had vanished and in its place lingered a snake-like face, leering masks, and a lightning bolt scar. The images flashed in rapid succession across her mind's eye. She gave a start and felt her whole body shake. A cold sweat was beginning to form on her skin.

"Hermione? Hermione, dear?" A familiar voice jarred her even more. She knew that voice.

"Mrs. Weasley?" Hermione heard her own voice erupt into the air, but it sounded distinctly separate from her internal consciousness. Her voice sounded confused and scratchy, as though it hadn't been used recently.

"Oh, Hermione, you're awake! You're back with us! Oh I'm so relieved!" Mrs. Weasley did in fact sound filled with relief. She was gushing with happiness, and Hermione could hear sounds that indicated she was coming closer to her. Yet hearing Mrs. Weasley's voice did not quell Hermione's confusion. She was glad to hear a familiar voice, especially one belonging to a most beloved mother-figure, but Mrs. Weasley's reasoning for being so relieved at Hermione's waking caused a tremor of apprehension inside Hermione.

"What's happened? Where am I?" Hermione asked unsteadily. She was struggling to place herself. She had no idea where she was, and her attempts to open her eyes and focus on something all ended in darkness.

"The battle's over, dear. Voldemort's been destroyed, thanks mainly to Dumbledore's Army. You kids were amazing! And now you're in St. Mungo's getting some much needed rest and healing." Mrs. Weasley sounded cheerful. Hermione worried that Mrs. Weasley sounded too cheerful. Was she hiding something? Was she trying to protect Hermione from some piece of bad news?

"What's wrong with me?" Hermione questioned, fighting to keep her voice emotionless.

"Well, dear, I think you're going to be just fine. Everyone got some bumps and bangs, but you came out alive. And you've even got all your limbs!" Mrs. Weasley chuckled. She sounded overly merry.

"Am I hurt? Was I unconscious? And why can't I see properly?" Hermione tried to sit herself up, but settled for merely scooting further up the bed.

"You've got some cuts and scars, but nothing the Healers can't close up. You should be just fine, for the most part. You were unconscious nearly a week, but now I see you've decided to rejoin us." Mrs. Weasley's repeated attempts at lightheartedness were not fooling Hermione.

"But why can't I see you?" Hermione was becoming frustrated and perhaps a little frightened due to Mrs. Weasley's avoidance of her question.

"Hermione... well, I'm not sure how to say this." Mrs. Weasley paused, inadvertently increasing the suspese. "I'm afraid the Healers haven't found a way to restore your vision yet." Mrs. Weasley sounded as though she was unsure of, or perhaps didn't want to be, sharing this information.

"My vision... You mean I'm blind? I just thought I had some kind of covering on my eyes. I'm blind? What happened? They can fix it, right?" Suddenly panic was rising. Hermione thought perhaps she should be happy to be alive, but lacking her vision was a bit scary. The prospect of never regaining her vision flashed through Hermione's mind in a brief and much unwanted glimpse.

"Well, dear," Mrs. Weasley began trying to explain. "The curse used on you wasn't a normal or known curse. The Healers are experienced with many of the vision-obstructing curses, but it seems the Death Eater who attacked you had developed his own spell for blinding his enemy. The Healers said that nothing they try has worked. But they haven't given up hope yet." Hermione couldn't help hearing the weakness in Mrs. Weasley's voice. She could not get her own hopes up; it didn't sound likely that the Healers would find a cure, based on the doubt hidden in Mrs. Weasley's hopeful explanation.

"Oh..." Hermione sighed, instantly becoming lost in her own thoughts. What else was there to say or do about it? A blind witch, who ever heard of such a thing? Surely they could find some counter-curse or something to help her. Suddenly Hermione felt a touch on her hand - Mrs. Weasley had placed her hand on Hermione's. Her hand was slightly cold, but it made Hermione feel less alone.

"What about Ron and Harry?" Hermione suddenly remembered her senses. What could she be thinking? She should have asked about them as soon as she had woken up! Here she had been so confused about where she was and so worried about losing her vision, when she should have been thinking about her two best friends! Try as she might, she could conjure no memory or final glance to help her remember what had happened to them. Were they alive? Where they hurt? She had to believe that they were okay. Surely, if they weren't, Mrs. Weasley could never pretend to be so cheerful. She would certainly be weeping. No, Ron and Harry were okay. They would come visit her soon!

Hermione listened as seconds ticked by. She could hear her own breathing and heart beat. She could hear a rattling noise outside and a ticking clock. But she didn't hear anything from Mrs. Weasley.

"Mrs. Weasley? Ron and Harry?" Hermione asked this question now with intense fear. She squeezed Mrs. Weasley's hand, refusing to jump to any conclusions before she had been answered. They had to be okay. She couldn't even let the thought enter her mind. She would have no life without them. No, she couldn't think of anything without them.

"Well, dear," Mrs. Weasley sniffed, "they're both still with us... for now." Hermione's breath caught in her throat. Her mind was deluged with terrible images. She saw mangled bodies and bleeding wounds, unconscious figures with bandaged heads and loads of potions and Healing Draughts. She imagined Healers flocking around their bodies, administering potions, checking for progress, and muttering counter curses.

"For now?" Hermione's voice came out feeble and shaky.

"Yes. We think Harry might recover soon. He hung on for his life, and now he's even talking to us and sitting up. But the Healers say there's something else unknown going on inside him that they can't quite uncover. They're puzzled. It might be another curse invented by one of the Death Eaters or even Lord Voldemort himself. No one's sure how it happened, because no one saw, and he's not speaking about that yet." Mrs. Weasley's voice had taken on a noticeably more somber tone.

"And Ron?" Hermione pushed out squeakily.

"They pulled Ron out of the forest unconscious, and he hasn't regained consciousness yet. The Healers say he might have suffered what the Muggles call a concussion. And he's also afflicted with an unknown curse, also probably developed by one of the Death Eaters. It seems they were determined to take down as many Wizards with them as they could. You three have certainly got the Healers quite perplexed now. They've even been talking with Arthur about some Muggle techniques, but I keep telling him, 'Don't you even think about it!'" Mrs. Weasley tried to lighten Hermione's burden, as though the prognosis wasn't really quite so bleak. Hermione wondered if Mrs. Weasley's attempt at softening the conversation was a ploy to keep her own worries and emotions in check.

"Can I see them?" Hermione asked quietly. "I mean, visit them?" she corrected herself. Would she ever see again?

"Well, the Healers need to attend to you, now that you're awake. But I'm sure something can be arranged." From the sound of her voice, Hermione thought that Mrs. Weasley must be smiling down at her.

"Anyway, I think I'll get the Healers and have them look you over. Then I'll run up and get the family to come see you." Hermione guessed that Mrs. Weasley was still smiling. Hermione nodded and promptly became lost in her own thoughts. Pulled out of the forest. Unknown curses. Harry and Ron both hanging on for dear life. What if they both died? And yet she seemed to be living.

She made the deepest wish inside of her, willing her two friends to live. They had finally given wizards, witches, and Muggles alike a safe world to enjoy. It would be so unfair if they were not allowed to enjoy it themselves.