Chapter 4

Insanity is relative. It depends on who has who locked in what cage.

-Ray Bradbury, writer (1920-2012)

Hermione's dark dreams clouded by a fog of uncertainty kept her restless through the night. She repeatedly revisited Lavender's bandaged arms and her cries of 'It chose me!' in her midnight thoughts. Somewhere, beneath the haze, the girl's words were familiar. If only she could just reach out and grasp…

Tap. Tap. Tap-tap.

The noise on her door woke her from her half-dazed stupor.

Tap. Tap. Tap-tap.

And there it was again. She wondered if this meant another visit from the women. A slight scraping before the repeated tapping suggested perhaps it was she who was to go to them.

Hermione tentatively stepped towards the door on hearing another tapped sequence. Straining her ears, she heard light footsteps padding away down the corridor at speed. She paused for a few moments in case this was a reaction to Matron appearing.

After no further noise sounded, she cracked the door open marginally to gain a glimpse of the corridor and any late night inhabitants.

A flash of auburn hair and green eyes flickered to her from the entrance doors of the ward. Surely they weren't expecting her to slip out of the ward unnoticed? What of the late night checks?

Deathly silence and an eerie stillness about the corridor unsettled Hermione, but gave her pause to wonder if this unusual atmosphere suggested that this was no ordinary night on the ward.

She stepped out of her room, careful to keep her door propped open with her hand in case of an immediately necessary return to bed. The silence grew louder in her ears; her heart racing. The microscopic sense of freedom tingled on the tips of her fingers.

She took another step, straining to keep her bedroom door within reach. Another flash of movement at the far end of the corridor stilled her, panic charging through her veins.

Auburn hair. A wave of a hand. She knew it most likely could be trusted to be safe.

Or could it? She didn't know these people. She didn't know where they placed within this sphere of insanity she'd found herself in. Then again, they seemed to be in the same boat. On the same side. Surely.

She took a breath and let the door swing closed behind her, pausing momentarily to check if the whisper of the catch would be enough to raise alarm from nearby staff. No sound came, and Hermione found herself padding further and further away from the safety and obedience of her room.

Towards the stairwell, towards the door. Towards the unknown.

She reached the end of the corridor and placed a palm against the door. One more pause. One more chance to turn back. Her spirit and curiosity unfailing, she pushed open the door and stepped through into the darkness beyond.

Barely lit by the half moon and stars winking through the high-up window, she heard footsteps ahead of her once again. Pressing herself flat into the shadows, she knew she couldn't be too careful. Not this far from her bed.

She tore down the stairs as swiftly and silently as she could whilst still keeping to the shadows, pausing on each landing, wondering at the size of the labyrinth she'd been incarcerated in. She had no clue as to how far down to go, until she heard a scrape on the steps below her and a sliver of light stretched out into the darkness.

She froze instantly and held her breath. The wait felt hours long before she finally dared to exhale.

"Granger." A murmur sounded in the darkness. Hermione remained still, unsure if the whisperer could be friend or foe. "Granger, if you're there, hurry up. We're waiting."

Step by step Hermione edged her way down, remaining cautious as she knew she must have been in what felt like a past life. As she rounded the corner in the stairwell she could see the sliver of light was being cast by a crack in the wall, a door - an entrance.

She inched closer and ran her fingers along the edge. It moved easily out towards her and she stepped in, summoning her intuitive courage and bringing the door to a close behind her without a sound.

The corridor she now found herself in was shadow-filled and haunting, as though many women had walked this path before her, under emotional circumstances. She could only wonder what had become of them.

The ancient, dust-covered light fixtures along the the walls flickered and hummed as she made her way along the corridor. It twisted and sloped and became colder as she followed it - murmurs and footsteps up ahead occasionally causing her to dart back around corners and into shadows.

Eventually it levelled out, as the light up ahead became stronger the closer she came to another door left partially open. She could hear whispered excitement as she laid a hand against it and stepped through the doorway, her bravery remaining true.

The room stilled as she stepped in.

"Granger. About time."

Pansy sat at the head of a large wooden table, worn down in places by what could only be years of use and yet covered with large swathes of dust, much as the whole room was.

Hermione looked around the enclosed, windowless space, attempting to take it all in whilst remaining on her guard. She resolved not to become too comfortable around these people, at least until she was at a total understanding of what the situation was.

She nodded a greeting to each of the familiar women, the red-haired Ginny, the quiet brunette and the gently smiling blonde.

"Sit."

Hermione looked up at Pansy, clearly leading this bizarre meeting.

"Sit." She repeated. "We don't have all night."

Hermione pulled out one of the rickety chairs lining the table and joined the unusual group. She glanced around at her companions again, all apparently at ease, but she couldn't ignore the palpable tension in the room.

"Granger." Pansy began, pausing to look Hermione dead in the eye, her own eyes alight with a fierce belief. She took a breath, and then began.

"You know you are not supposed to be here. The same as us. Not a single person in this room is supposed to be locked up in here. This is an house for the insane. No, it's a prison for the insane. And no-one in this building will ever be getting out. No matter what the doctors and the nurses and the psych's tell you, you are never leaving. Never.

"You may be holding on to some benign hope that your parents will come back for you. That your friends will come after you. Or at least visit. I'm telling you, Granger, you will never see a single person who meant anything to you again. Chances are, you've forgotten most of them already. You know that haze you feel in your head? That blurring behind your eyes every time you think you catch on to something familiar? That's them. They want you here, and they want to leech all desire to get out. If you believe there's nothing out there for you, why would you want to leave at all?

"Well your memories aren't the only thing they want to bleed you of. You hold within you a power, a force deep inside you that could be great, that could be immense. It could be so strong, you could blow all these bastards away and burn this hell-hole into the ground.

"Granger I want you to listen closely and I want you to believe what I'm about to tell you."

Pansy paused. The tension heightened.

"Granger, you have magic within you. You have magic within you and they want to suck it out of you, even if it destroys you. They're willing to kill you to create a force so powerful, the whole world will fall at their knees."

A/N: Thank you, reader, for your enduring patience!

Life has sadly but necessarily forced itself in the way of this story, with growing up, graduating, getting a proper job and a first proper home - which is all very exciting. But, I am back to the site, back to the story and back to the writing.

A short offering so far, yes, but I hope to have the next chapter up for you in the next couple of days.

Thank you again, and I'd love to hear your thoughts...