Through Her Eyes

Chapter 1: Adrift

Hermione felt adrift. As if she were simply floating on the surface of a lake. It was cold, but not uncomfortably so, and her deeply drawn breaths were silent. Hermione couldn't tell if her eyes were open or not, as the darkness around her was thick. But if she squinted, or pretended to look hard enough, it kinda looked like the inky sky was swirling.
Even in the deafening silence, Hermione thought she could feel her heartbeat, despite the lack of sound or the feeling of blood rushing through her veins. And so, with nothing else to observe in the darkness, Hermione turned to thinking. By now, her brain was whirring a thousand miles a minute. Was this place Death? Was it limbo? Was she simply having a side effect of a spell gone wrong? Hermione wracked her brain for some sort of answer or book she had read about afterlife, but nothing came to mind.
Hermione thought that Death was simply the ending of life, nothing happened afterwards and you simply ceased to exist. But even if this Dark place was her afterlife, Hermione was certainly still existing and in a conscious state of mind. Therefore, she was wrong about death.
Unless of course, she wasn't actually dead. But that was highly improbable, as Bellatrix Lestrange was a talented witch despite her crazed nature. She never missed a shot, especially not when it was meant to kill,

'Her knife didn't miss Dobby either,' Hermione thought gloomily, sighing silently and frowning. She could only imagine what the coast was like right now. The shore was probably damp, and mist would be sitting lowly on the blades of rock protruding from the sand. The waves would be crashing against the shallow reefs not far into the cove, and the salty wind would be blowing. Perhaps that's what Dobby had seen when he died. A beautiful beach scene rather then the darkness of Malfoy Manor,
'He really is a free elf,' Hermione thought bitterly, only half ashamed at her terrible thoughts.
She had fallen from a bridge, and the last face she saw was that of her killer. Joy.

'She's so pale, Albus,'

The voice was far off and distant, Hermione thought she was simply imagining it. Listening closely, the voices continued,
'I can't keep her here much longer. There are other students in need of my attention,' 

Hermione winced slightly. She was already dead, and she was probably taking up space in the infirmary. Maybe Ron had recovered her body with a spell?

'I understand Poppy. She will stay for a few days more, in case there is improvement. Then, we will have her moved to St. Mungo's,'

St. Mungo's? Hermione tried with all her might to move, yet even with all her effort, she remained adrift in the blackness, listening to voices somewhere far in the distance,

'I'm sure her family will be greatly displeased with this turn of events, Albus. The Ministry of Magic will surely hear about this,'

'I will take care of the Ministry, Poppy. You've done all you can for her. Come now, lets allow her to rest,'

The voices faded away, and Hermione was left in the silence again. But it wasn't as boring as it had been before, since she was now significantly puzzled. The conversation had clearly been between Poppy Pomfrey and Albus Dumbledore, but if Hermione was remembering her facts right, Dumbledore was dead.

'This is ridiculous,' Hermione growled in her mind, surprised at the malice which laced her normally laid back, if not slightly pompous tone, 'if I can find a way to stop floating I could figure this out for myself,'

Determined now, Hermione struggled against herself, inwardly groaning at the amount of effort and pain her body was in. It was like being pressed down with several large stones, despite the fact that she currently felt weightless. Silently struggling, the darkness seemed thicker as it pulled against her escape, attempting to drag her back down into a state of listless floating. But if Hermione Jean Granger was anything, she certainly was not a quitter.
Wincing and fighting through her aches, Hermione managed to find a grip on her arm, then the other. Using her fingers, she clasped at the feathery blackness and used it to pull herself into a sitting position, startled when her final grunt of victory echoed loudly around her head (instead of in it, as it had been before).
Before Hermione could ponder the odd phenomena however, her eyes were blinded by a sudden white light as the darkness gave way to a free fall. Not having the energy to scream in panic, Hermione merely hid her face in her arms, waiting for the end to come once again. Instead however, the familiar feeling of cushions enveloped her with a soft 'thup' and all went silent again. Yet even in this new environment, the silence wasn't nearly as deafening as before. A soft breeze was whispering somewhere though loose mortar around window panes, and a crow cried somewhere beyond that. Hermione could hear the creaking of old floorboards. Inhaling deeply, she smelt the sterile twinge of hot vinegar and Skele-Grow, and tasted the vile concoction around her lips.
Hermione had been in the infirmary enough to know exactly where she was, and it gave her solace. It certainly didn't surprise her that Madame Pomfrey would rebuild the infirmary first after the war, as it was a vital part of clean up and recovery. But did that mean Hermione survived her fall, as well as the killing curse administered by Bellatrix Lestrange? Hermione thought it impossible, and yet she lay unconscious in a hospital cot - presumably at Hogwarts.
Wincing as a new wave of pain and soreness overcame her, Hermione shifted slightly, feeling the soft sheets billowed just below her breast line. Feeling was an odd sensation after floating for who-knows-how-long in her own subconscious. Opening her lips, Hermione found them dry and painful, and let out a small squawk of discomfort. Her throat felt like sandpaper. Forcing open her eyelids - which was quite a feat in itself - Hermione had to immediately shut her eyes again. Grunting stubbornly, she tried again, forcing her lids to squint and adjust to the new environment. Dawns light was just beginning to flit through the high set, arched windows of the infirmary. It gave everything a glow, Hermione sighing at the familiarity of it all. The war had filled up the infirmary rather quickly during the fighting, and many had set up cots in the Great Hall. Yet looking around, Hermione was confused to find no one else around her, except a lone figure at the far corner of the room in a full body cast,

'Quidditch accident,' Hermione mumbled to herself, exhaling deeply again as she observed the rest of the room. Everything looked the same as it did before the war, except there were some new banners hanging on the wall.
Just then, the doors to the infirmary opened and Poppy Pomfrey scurried inside. Hermione had been well acquainted with the talented yet strict matron of Hogwarts, as being friends with Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley usually forced her into visiting more times then desired. But it was Madame Pomfrey who inspired Hermione to become a healer after the war, perhaps even applying for a position at Hogwarts.
The small woman went to the casted boy first, whispering lowly to him through the creamy plaster. She then began to trot towards Hermione's side of the room. Hermione herself was rather startled at the joviality of her stride, as the Madame Pomfrey she knew always seemed to walk in a more perturbed manner. She also looked a bit younger too, as her silver grey hair still had patches of dark in it,
'Odd,' Hermione thought, watching the matron work around her like she didn't even exist. She through about attracting the woman's attentions, but didn't feel the need to startle her to wits end. And so as Madame Pomfrey mixed a variety of potions and poured some Skele-Gro, Hermione watched tiredly and with closed lips.
It was too bad Madame Pomfrey had a glass in her hand, as it fell immediately to the floor with a small clatter as the matron finally set her eyes on Hermione. Their eyes locked, and the woman looked at her with a palor complexion,

"M-Merlins Beard,"

Hermione was surprised at the matrons choice of words, watching as she immediately conjured up a Patronus and sent it away. Over her initial shock, the matron began to cluck like a mother hen, waving her wand over Hermione's figure and having her down several colored potions as well as the Skele-Gro. Finally, Hermione found the gumption to speak for herself,

"W-what..-"

The sentence was incomplete, as Hermione couldn't seem to get any words past her sandpaper throat. Handing her another potion, Madame Pomfrey tisked slightly,

"You took a bad fall, dear,"

Hermione nodded, downing the potion in one gulp as she remembered the bridge and Bellatrix and...Ron. Realizing her friends were probably worried sick, Hermione made a move to sit up, only to be pushed back down by the matron,

"Oh no you don't," she stated firmly, "you will not be living my ward any time soon,"

"B-but, my friends?"

The potion seemed to have cleared up Hermione's throat a bit, even if it was still somewhat painful. Madame Pomfrey scoffed and shook her head slightly, causing Hermione to become bemused. Certainly she respected Harry and Ron more then that (even if they were total gits sometimes)?

"You certainly don't mean your troublesome cousin and his friends, do you? Those boys..."

"Wait...my cousin?"

Hermione didn't like interrupting her superiors, but her cousin? Last time she checked, her only cousin was a Muggle, and was drinking his life away in Bermuda. It was Madame Pomfrey's turn to look confused, staring at Hermione as she dipped a wash cloth in a pail of water and began dabbing at the girl's face,

"Surely you remember, Miss Black? Sirius and his little friends placed a Muggle thing called a roller-skate on the stairs - while they were moving! Honesty, you could have died! I mean, you fell down three whole flights,"

Hermione was completely speechless. Not only had Madame Pomfrey (a woman Hermione had known for 7 years) called her 'Miss Black', but she mentioned a Sirius. The only Sirius Hermione ever knew was dead. And lastly, she had fallen off a bridge, not down three flights of moving stairs. Before Hermione could question anything however, the doors to the infirmary opened again. Albus Dumbledore stood there, garnished in his usual white, perfectly living and perfectly healthy. Hermione felt unable to catch her breath, as the whole world seemed to go dark again.