𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞 𝐀𝐦𝐞 | 𝐇.𝐏.

𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝟕 - 𝟓

As my eyes flutter open, the pain is still there. It's scalding, dizzying, and nauseating, and seemed to be coming from my side. I looked down towards my stomach and almost passed out again. I had never seen so much blood in my life. 

Not when I had stollen my father's wand and accidentally slashed my arm, not when Potter had gotten stabbed with the basilisk fang in the Chamber of Secrets, not even when Draco was lying on the floor of a Hogwarts bathroom after Potter had hit him with the Sectumsempra curse.

Then there was a body. A face leaning over me. Bushy hair blocking the trees towering above me and warm hands on my skin. And she was crying.

I drew a ragged breath and forced myself to focus on the little things first. My chest rising and falling, the sound of panicked sobs—from Hermione I realized—and the feeling of fallen leaves and hard dirt against my numb fingers.

Then I tried to listen, fighting to stay conscious. Hermione was making sounds, shushing me and pressing a shaking hand to my side. There were footsteps near my legs, and I felt the ground tremor beneath me from the force of them.

"Hermione-" Someone choked out. I knew that voice. I tried to reach out for him, but all I managed to do was twitch my fingers weakly in Potter's direction.

"What happened to her?" Another someone—Weasley—demanded, voice warbling.

"Harry!" Hermione cried. "Harry, quickly, in my bag! There's a bottle labeled Essence of Dittany."

I saw him run out of my vision. No. I needed him to stay. I tried to say so, but all I managed to do was make a pleading, whimpering sound that was absolutely nothing like me. 

"Quickly!" Hermione screamed. I hoped she wasn't talking to me. I wasn't doing anything quickly any time soon in the state I was in. Then her hair blocked the sky again. "I'm going to take your shirt off, okay?" She said to me, not screaming anymore. "Okay, everything's going to be okay. You're going to be okay."

I would have responded if it weren't for the fact that I could barely breath, so I figured speaking was out of the question at the moment. I felt cool air on my skin as the shirt came unbuttoned, and a scream tore from my hoarse throat when she peeled the cloth away from the injury.

"Hermione, her stomach..." Potter was back. Hermione was right. Everything was going to be okay. 

"I know!" She sobbed. "Just do it!" 

I couldn't for the life of me figure out why she was crying so badly. Potter was back. She was right. Everything was going to be okay. 

Black hair and red hair kneeled down on the side of me opposite Hermione. I knew it was Potter's hand that grasped mine, and I was grateful for anything solid to hold onto. A small object was passed from one person to the next over me, and then something landed on my stomach like a drop of ice-cold water.

I focused on the single feeling of it making a path down my side and the relief it brought to that one thin line of my ruined skin. More of the ice fell, and eventually the pain subsided to a harsh bite instead of such an unbearable feeling.

My surroundings came into sharper view. Hermione was in fact on one side of me, and her hands were covered in blood. Covered in my blood. Potter and Weasley were also kneeling on my other side like I had thought, and I realized just how hard I had been digging my nails into Potter's skin. I loosened my grip and forced my head up off the ground, even as it sent a pang of hurt through me.

Stretching from the middle of my stomach to my left hip was a twisting scar that looked about a month old. It was like someone had slashed me with a particularly long, sharp knife. Not exactly pleasant. I let my head fall back onto the forest floor and took a great, gasping breath.