RP: Walking the Stairs
Date: Sunday, August 13, 1998
Characters: Hermione Granger
Location: 12 Grimmauld Place
Status: Private
Summary: It’s time to stop lying around
Completion: Complete
The bruising was better today. When Fleur had helped her shower earlier that morning, Hermione had looked at her body and paid attention to the yellowing discoloration. Yellow meant they were healing. The soreness in her back and chest was better, too. She wouldn’t be running any marathons in the next couple of days, but she could walk and sit without feeling muscles pull or having to cringe from the dull ache that would spread over her.
The bandages were still around her wrists, which was frustrating because the bones had been healed immediately and now it was just swelling and soreness that the Healer was concerned about. But if the bone was fixed, then surely it was ridiculous to keep them wrapped and immobile when exercise would likely help them heal faster.
She hadn’t studied Healing charms in depth, but she had learned the basic ones in case they’d be of use during their hunt, and she knew it wasn’t going to really help, in the end, to avoid using her hands any longer. Besides that, she was going crazy being so useless and helpless. Even if there was some soreness, it would tolerable compared to not even being able to hold a book and flip the pages without Ron or Harry doing it for her. They didn’t seem to mind, but she did, and she didn’t want to keep them from their lives anymore than she already had.
There had been Ginny’s birthday on Friday; Ron hadn’t been able to go to the family dinner and Harry had ended up owling their gifts. Then yesterday, they had missed their Quidditch game because of her, regardless of whatever reasons they came up with to not actually blame it on her, and all she’d been able to do was tell them they should go if they wanted to go.
Normally, she’d have threatened them or pushed them into the Floo herself, but she hadn’t been able to muster that much emotion since Thursday, so she’d just sat there while they told her, made a protest, and then let it drop. After all, if they had left her, she’d have been lying around unable to do anything, but she still felt the guilt of not forcing them. They hadn’t really acted like it was her fault, of course, but she knew they’d have both gone if she’d been able to get by on her own.
It was maddening, in a way, how she‘d felt since it all happened. There were times since she had woken up at St. Mungos when she felt as if she were inhabiting a body that was no longer her own. It wasn’t the body, though. She couldn’t explain it, not with words, so maybe that’s why it was so difficult to understand or adjust. It was how she felt, how the different parts of her mind kept arguing with each other, how quiet she’d become, how cowardly.
Oddly enough, it was the cowardly part that bothered her the most. She avoided thinking about that afternoon with Greyback. And she didn’t want to really be around people, especially groups of people. The idea made her stomach twist and her head hurt. The thought of going out, of being seen like this, of being around crowds of strangers who knew something about her she’d have preferred to keep secret, of getting caught again even if Greyback was dead, it scared her. She hated being scared. Hated it more than she could put into words. But she couldn’t help it.
It was just too much. Too much of everything, as ridiculous as that sounded. If she didn’t talk about it, she could avoid the subject as if it never happened. Of course, she couldn’t possibly avoid it whenever she could look down and see the bandages on her wrists or when her left arm started itching beneath the bandage. Her head still hurt a lot, even with the potions, and she just seemed to lack energy that she’d always had, even after being cursed by Bellatrix Lestrange.
A therapist had come to her room while she’d been at Mungos, but she hadn’t wanted to speak to him, had just looked at him quietly and blinked when he spoke until he left, but now she couldn’t help but think it might be different if she’d tried talking. No one else had even attempted. Robards had stopped by on Friday, reviewing a statement that Jennings had given and timeline he’d created, and all she’d had to do was nod to approve it. Harry and Ron didn’t ask, probably didn’t want to know, and the few other people she’d seen since had seemed intent on acting as if nothing was really different. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it just was in her head.
That would make sense, she supposed. The nightmares kept her from sleeping deeply, and she had to have a light by her bed for when she woke feeling terrified and sickened from the memories or distorted memories that her mind seemed intent on remembering in vivid detail whenever she tried to sleep. The fact that she’d not been able to move easily on her own for days meant she spent a lot of time lying around unable to do anything, even read a book, which gave her too much time to think and get lost in her own thoughts.
After Malfoy Manor, she hadn’t had the time for such recovery because there was so much to do. She’d just pushed aside everything and jumped back into the hunt for Horcruxes. This time, though, there was nothing to provide such a distraction. The thought of going back to Hogwarts to work had her thinking about that afternoon, of trying to reach the gates. The thought of going back to the Ministry filled her mind with the looks and whispers she knew she’d receive and the stacks of files dealing with werewolves, of all bloody things. Not even revision group could excite her because she didn’t want people looking at her, judging her, whispering who knew what when her back was turned like it had been during fourth year.
She hated being such a coward. Hated herself for shying away from things that brought her enjoyment because of fears or tension. When it came time, she had to believe that she’d face the gates of Hogwarts and walk through them, that she’d ignore the mutterings of Ministry co-workers and help with the werewolf research, that she’d be able to handle a revision group comprised of people who might not judge her.
Still, there was a part of her that wanted to avoid it as much as possible. It was for that reason that she was now walking up the stairs. When she reached the fifth floor, she’d come back down then go up again. Tomorrow was Monday. The boys had already missed an important Quidditch match, something she knew they’d been looking forward to, and she wasn’t about to put their lives on hold, too, just because she was anxious and uncertain. Tomorrow was just the Ministry, so she could go back and deal with the files and by Wednesday, she’d be ready to handle Hogwarts, hopefully.
First, of course, she had to be able to walk easier and use her hands, which was why she’d started on the stairs. It wasn’t that bad at all. The soreness had been decreasing every day and the potion for her head usually helped instantly. She looked horrid, with bruises and a little swelling remaining in her face still, but she didn’t physically feel as bad as she had on Friday. If she kept lying around letting the boys do everything for her, though, she had little doubt that she would still feel sore, if only for lack of exercise.
After she walked the stairs, she’d remove the bandages from her wrists and start using her hands again. Her upper arm was still sore enough that she didn’t want to risk making the mark there worse, so she’d let it remain bandaged for now. It didn’t help that she still hadn’t actually looked at it to see what damage Greyback had done there that had the Healer muttering about it possibly scarring. She had been lucky, compared to Bill and Lavender, but she didn’t want to see it yet. Didn’t want to deal with the memories so firmly wrapped up in that moment before she’d sort of gone into shock. It could wait.
For now, she had to become independent again and work through the soreness while she also prepared to ignore anyone who might comment on her appearance or whisper about what happened. She hadn’t been able to manage that in fourth year, when some of the cards she received and gossip she heard around school had hurt enough to make her cry into her pillow, but she was older now. People’s opinions of her were no longer that important compared to so many other things. So, they could say or think whatever they wanted because it didn’t really mean anything.
With that thought in mind, she started up the stairs to the fourth floor. She was feeling a little better already, so maybe she‘d walk the stairs twice before thinking about breakfast and trying to exercise her wrists.
Characters: Hermione Granger
Location: 12 Grimmauld Place
Status: Private
Summary: It’s time to stop lying around
Completion: Complete
The bruising was better today. When Fleur had helped her shower earlier that morning, Hermione had looked at her body and paid attention to the yellowing discoloration. Yellow meant they were healing. The soreness in her back and chest was better, too. She wouldn’t be running any marathons in the next couple of days, but she could walk and sit without feeling muscles pull or having to cringe from the dull ache that would spread over her.
The bandages were still around her wrists, which was frustrating because the bones had been healed immediately and now it was just swelling and soreness that the Healer was concerned about. But if the bone was fixed, then surely it was ridiculous to keep them wrapped and immobile when exercise would likely help them heal faster.
She hadn’t studied Healing charms in depth, but she had learned the basic ones in case they’d be of use during their hunt, and she knew it wasn’t going to really help, in the end, to avoid using her hands any longer. Besides that, she was going crazy being so useless and helpless. Even if there was some soreness, it would tolerable compared to not even being able to hold a book and flip the pages without Ron or Harry doing it for her. They didn’t seem to mind, but she did, and she didn’t want to keep them from their lives anymore than she already had.
There had been Ginny’s birthday on Friday; Ron hadn’t been able to go to the family dinner and Harry had ended up owling their gifts. Then yesterday, they had missed their Quidditch game because of her, regardless of whatever reasons they came up with to not actually blame it on her, and all she’d been able to do was tell them they should go if they wanted to go.
Normally, she’d have threatened them or pushed them into the Floo herself, but she hadn’t been able to muster that much emotion since Thursday, so she’d just sat there while they told her, made a protest, and then let it drop. After all, if they had left her, she’d have been lying around unable to do anything, but she still felt the guilt of not forcing them. They hadn’t really acted like it was her fault, of course, but she knew they’d have both gone if she’d been able to get by on her own.
It was maddening, in a way, how she‘d felt since it all happened. There were times since she had woken up at St. Mungos when she felt as if she were inhabiting a body that was no longer her own. It wasn’t the body, though. She couldn’t explain it, not with words, so maybe that’s why it was so difficult to understand or adjust. It was how she felt, how the different parts of her mind kept arguing with each other, how quiet she’d become, how cowardly.
Oddly enough, it was the cowardly part that bothered her the most. She avoided thinking about that afternoon with Greyback. And she didn’t want to really be around people, especially groups of people. The idea made her stomach twist and her head hurt. The thought of going out, of being seen like this, of being around crowds of strangers who knew something about her she’d have preferred to keep secret, of getting caught again even if Greyback was dead, it scared her. She hated being scared. Hated it more than she could put into words. But she couldn’t help it.
It was just too much. Too much of everything, as ridiculous as that sounded. If she didn’t talk about it, she could avoid the subject as if it never happened. Of course, she couldn’t possibly avoid it whenever she could look down and see the bandages on her wrists or when her left arm started itching beneath the bandage. Her head still hurt a lot, even with the potions, and she just seemed to lack energy that she’d always had, even after being cursed by Bellatrix Lestrange.
A therapist had come to her room while she’d been at Mungos, but she hadn’t wanted to speak to him, had just looked at him quietly and blinked when he spoke until he left, but now she couldn’t help but think it might be different if she’d tried talking. No one else had even attempted. Robards had stopped by on Friday, reviewing a statement that Jennings had given and timeline he’d created, and all she’d had to do was nod to approve it. Harry and Ron didn’t ask, probably didn’t want to know, and the few other people she’d seen since had seemed intent on acting as if nothing was really different. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it just was in her head.
That would make sense, she supposed. The nightmares kept her from sleeping deeply, and she had to have a light by her bed for when she woke feeling terrified and sickened from the memories or distorted memories that her mind seemed intent on remembering in vivid detail whenever she tried to sleep. The fact that she’d not been able to move easily on her own for days meant she spent a lot of time lying around unable to do anything, even read a book, which gave her too much time to think and get lost in her own thoughts.
After Malfoy Manor, she hadn’t had the time for such recovery because there was so much to do. She’d just pushed aside everything and jumped back into the hunt for Horcruxes. This time, though, there was nothing to provide such a distraction. The thought of going back to Hogwarts to work had her thinking about that afternoon, of trying to reach the gates. The thought of going back to the Ministry filled her mind with the looks and whispers she knew she’d receive and the stacks of files dealing with werewolves, of all bloody things. Not even revision group could excite her because she didn’t want people looking at her, judging her, whispering who knew what when her back was turned like it had been during fourth year.
She hated being such a coward. Hated herself for shying away from things that brought her enjoyment because of fears or tension. When it came time, she had to believe that she’d face the gates of Hogwarts and walk through them, that she’d ignore the mutterings of Ministry co-workers and help with the werewolf research, that she’d be able to handle a revision group comprised of people who might not judge her.
Still, there was a part of her that wanted to avoid it as much as possible. It was for that reason that she was now walking up the stairs. When she reached the fifth floor, she’d come back down then go up again. Tomorrow was Monday. The boys had already missed an important Quidditch match, something she knew they’d been looking forward to, and she wasn’t about to put their lives on hold, too, just because she was anxious and uncertain. Tomorrow was just the Ministry, so she could go back and deal with the files and by Wednesday, she’d be ready to handle Hogwarts, hopefully.
First, of course, she had to be able to walk easier and use her hands, which was why she’d started on the stairs. It wasn’t that bad at all. The soreness had been decreasing every day and the potion for her head usually helped instantly. She looked horrid, with bruises and a little swelling remaining in her face still, but she didn’t physically feel as bad as she had on Friday. If she kept lying around letting the boys do everything for her, though, she had little doubt that she would still feel sore, if only for lack of exercise.
After she walked the stairs, she’d remove the bandages from her wrists and start using her hands again. Her upper arm was still sore enough that she didn’t want to risk making the mark there worse, so she’d let it remain bandaged for now. It didn’t help that she still hadn’t actually looked at it to see what damage Greyback had done there that had the Healer muttering about it possibly scarring. She had been lucky, compared to Bill and Lavender, but she didn’t want to see it yet. Didn’t want to deal with the memories so firmly wrapped up in that moment before she’d sort of gone into shock. It could wait.
For now, she had to become independent again and work through the soreness while she also prepared to ignore anyone who might comment on her appearance or whisper about what happened. She hadn’t been able to manage that in fourth year, when some of the cards she received and gossip she heard around school had hurt enough to make her cry into her pillow, but she was older now. People’s opinions of her were no longer that important compared to so many other things. So, they could say or think whatever they wanted because it didn’t really mean anything.
With that thought in mind, she started up the stairs to the fourth floor. She was feeling a little better already, so maybe she‘d walk the stairs twice before thinking about breakfast and trying to exercise her wrists.