(Turned)

Her eyes flickered open.

It was dark and cold and her body hurt. She took in a shuddering breath, and with it came a sharp intense pain just below her lungs. She hacked out a cough, but before her hand could cover her mouth, it knocked against something. She froze – and in a breathless moment, she reached out with a shaking hand. It hit steel just above her head.

It was so small the space she was in. Her breathing became fast and the urgent want of out flooded her.

She kicked and screamed and hit the walls with her fists. Pain shot through her body with each movement, but she didn't care – she wanted to get out now. Her foot hit solidly against one of the sides and there was a sharp click. She stilled, then kicked at it again, only to hear the groan of metal.

Light blinded her for a moment, and the ground she lay on moved. When she took her hands away from her eyes, she peered out. A white ceiling lay above her. She turned her head to the side and saw a wall filled with doors with metal handles. Hands curling into fists, she pushed herself up unsteadily. She felt faint, her vision blurry, as she righted herself. She looked down, to see that she was firstly naked, and secondly, she was on a body-length tray. She slid off it, and the tiles beneath her feet were cold.

-cold fingers, cold hands on her, touching her, hurting her, cold skin on her, cold skin she scratched and hit as she fought back, but it wasn't enough, not even close, it hurt so so much, cold lips, then pain, so much pain-

A gasp escaped her. The nails of her hands dug into her palms. She took a step forward. Then another. She had to get out. She had to find out where she was. She had to . . .

-blood, so much blood in the air, on her skin, staining her clothes, scream, she couldn't scream, cold hand over mouth, liquid fire in bloodstream, tears streaming down face, weak, weak, so weak, useless-

She stretched out an arm, fingers spread out. She felt her fingertips touch a surface and she tried to focus on it. She saw a pair of eyes staring back at her and she started violently, falling onto the ground on her side. She scrambled back, a sob choking her.

-energy, energy swirling in her gut, bursting, brimming, ready to explode, it filled her, then unleashed blindingly-

She looked at the mirror, at the image staring back at her. She almost didn't recognise herself. Her skin was deathly pale, and the wounds . . . It looked like a part of her neck had been ripped off, leaving a gaping hole. Slashes ran across her arms and face. With trembling hands, she touched the stitches of a Y-shaped cut on her chest.

Frantically, she looked behind her, to see a row of tables. And on those tables, lay bodies hidden by pieces of white cloth. Her eyes darted to the tray she had woken up on, then to the identical doors running beside, above and below it.

A morgue.

She was in a morgue.

She ran her fingers down the stitches. She counted them over and over again in her mind. A deep stillness filled her as she realised she wasn't dead. She was in a morgue and wasn't dead. Even though they had cut her up. Even though no blood ran from her gaping neck.

She wasn't dead.

-thrown off, no cold hands holding her down, a sickening crunch, body aflame, nerves screaming, muscles spasms, hunger, pain, thirst, hunger, hunger, hungerhungerhunger-

Hermione Granger wasn't dead.

But why wasn't her heart beating?

xXx

She made it up the stairs. She found a door to a wardrobe in one of the offices, and in it hung a shirt and pair of black pants. Shakily, she reached out and pulled them from the hanger, clutching the material to her chest. She sank to her knees, then to the ground as she suddenly wept. She didn't know what was happening. She didn't know why she was crying, shaking, collapsing. Nothing made sense.

She felt droplets drip off her chin and she rubbed her eyes. As her hand fell into her vision, she saw a smudge of red across the skin. She looked down at the shirt in her hands and there were spots of red on it that hadn't been there before. She brought a finger to her eye, then lowered it. Blood. There was blood, instead of tears.

Tears of blood.

-hunger, overwhelming hunger, she could smell it, so close, so perfect, before she knew it, her body moved, her mouth open above a bared, limp neck, two bites, then the skin broke, then it flowed, all she ever tasted could never compare to it, it was everything she had ever dreamed of, it took over all her senses, filled her with such ecstasy, it was blinding, it was consuming, it was everything, it was the blood of a killer-

She crawled into the wardrobe, the clothes held tight against her chest, and closed the door. She hugged her knees with her forehead pressed against them. She closed her eyes, shaking her head from side to side, again and again.

The blood tears never stopped.

xXx

Author's Note: Well, here's the beginning of the story I've been writing instead of Chaged. This story was inspired by watching a horror movie called 'Rise' with my dad in the early hours of the morning. Was a strange experience, to say the least. But what the hell. Hope you enjoy anyway.

Oh, if you want a song to go with this, listen to 'Comforting Sounds' by Mew.