Dark Desires

Chapter 9 3/4

And then there is only darkness.
Her hands reach out, maybe to embrace someone. But there is no one to embrace.
A slight breeze caresses her cheek and kisses her uncovered skin; a sudden shiver runs through her when she realises there is a finger on her lower spine. Where there for a moment ago had been nothing, there is now a dark outline of a figure.
The figure leans in, dragging the slender finger over her spine, slowly.
She is in heaven and in hell, this finger burning her skin.

"You betrayed us, 'Mione". Ron's voice sounds faint in the darkness, and at first she doesn't pay attention to it, being too distracted by the finger on her skin: dragging, scratching.
The second voice appears as another nail starts burning its way up her right ankle.

"We trusted you", Harry says, this time nearer, and now a nagging feeling ignites in her stomach. The second finger has reached the middle of her calf and as it touches the knee, a third finger connects with her hip. And then a fourth finger starts at her upper arm. More and more fingers come in contact with her warm skin now, and now it feels scary, not sensational. She's lost track of the points connecting her to someone else now. They are slowly trailing to one, collective place on her body: the throat.

"You were my best friend". It's Ginny's voice, whispering in her left ear.
She feels claustrophobic, is it Ginny's fingers who now grasp around her neck?
But no, one person does not possess this many fingers.
Suddenly and all at once, they twist around her throat, barring the air from moving down to her lungs. She opens her mouth, not enough time to draw a last, desperate breath of air, instead she looks like a fish on dry land.

"You were my favourite student, Miss Granger". And at this, tears begin rolling down her cheeks because McGonagall had always been the most beloved and trusted parental figure for her at Hogwarts.
More voices join the choir, more fingers join the torture. She recognises some of them: Hagrid, Luna, Dobby and even Molly Weasley. It is unbearable.

A slight chuckle in her ear, soft curls gently swaying across her chest; and then, all the fingers suddenly disappear and recollect anew, now holding her face in their cold, iron grasp.
As she inhales desperately, a pair of lips close over her open ones. A new form of torture, worse than the suffocation, overpowers her. But it is a sweet torture, this time.
Sweet like oranges and orchids and orgasms in operas.
Searing, hot lips commanding her to give in. And all the voices magnify in power, until they are screaming, screeching for her to stop, for this is the reason they hate her - this, in front of her.

Hermione stirred awake, sweat coating her forehead. It was Bellatrix. She felt empty and unable to find rest. Dark thoughts filled her head and stopped the constant buzzing of her mind. She couldn't escape this suffocating quietness and stood up, tucking the duvet around herself and moving towards the balcony for some fresh air.

But the lead actress of Hermione's nightmares had already occupied one of the chairs.