My Missing piece (Harmione)

37.

The scene shifted with an agonizing slowness, as if time itself were reluctant to reveal the horrors hidden within this chamber of despair. Harry's heart clenched in a vice of overwhelming guilt and despair as the room gradually came into focus.

They found themselves trapped in the same eerie room from their previous memory, but it had transformed into a grotesque mockery of itself. The Death Eaters who had once haunted these walls had departed, leaving behind an oppressive stillness that was more terrifying than their menacing presence. All but one had departed, and this lone Death Eater seemed to melt into the shadows, barely discernible amidst the encroaching darkness.

Eleanor, the fragile young girl, was now awake, her tear-filled eyes darting around the room in desperate search of salvation. Unaware of the sinister threat lurking in the obscure corner.

The tension in the room was suffocating, and the only audible sound was the quiet, gut-wrenching ragged breathing emanating from the figure at the far end of the chamber. This person, their body a canvas of agony, lay crumpled amidst a grotesque tableau of suffering. Deep, jagged gashes marred their once-vibrant flesh, while crimson rivulets snaked across the cold, stone floor, pooling into grotesque puddles. The stench of blood hung heavy in the air, a vile reminder of the unspeakable horrors that had been inflicted upon them.

As Harry turned to follow Eleanor's gaze, his stomach plummeted like an anchor into the abyss. He could feel his heart shattering into a thousand irreparable pieces, and hot tears streamed unbidden down his cheeks. Beside him, Ginny gasped, her fragile composure teetering on the precipice of collapse. The darkness of the scene wrapped around them like a suffocating shroud, threatening to engulf their very souls as they confronted the depths of human cruelty and suffering.

In this nightmarish tableau of despair, Ron momentarily forgot that he was trapped within a haunting memory. His instincts took over as he sprinted toward Hermione's shattered form. She lay sprawled on the unforgiving ground, appearing frailer and more pallid than he had ever seen her. Fresh blood oozed from her deep and ghastly wounds, creating a gruesome tableau that seemed to defy the laws of reality.

"Ron, get back here! It's just a memory, it's already happened!" George's voice quivered as he followed Ron, his own eyes haunted by the sight before them.

For a moment, the memory of Eleanor and their surroundings faded into insignificance as they beheld Hermione's broken and bloodied figure. The world around them seemed to blur as they struggled to comprehend the horrors that had been inflicted upon their dear friend.

Meanwhile, the little girl, Eleanor, who had been a mere observer until now, crawled towards Hermione. Despite her tender age, she recognized Hermione by her distinctive bushy hair. With a heartbreaking innocence, Eleanor wrapped her tiny arms around Hermione's unconscious body, as if offering what little comfort she could in this nightmare.

Time stretched agonizingly as they remained frozen in that tableau of misery. Suddenly, Hermione's eyes flickered open, her lips forming a fragile smile as she gazed upon the small figure clinging to her. With great effort, she attempted to rise, but her face contorted in agony, and she surrendered to the torment, collapsing back to the floor.

Minutes passed like hours, and eventually, Hermione mustered the strength to drag her fragile form to the wall. She sat there, leaning against it, using the cold, unforgiving stone wall as an anchor to support her trembling body. Her grip on Eleanor tightened, as if she were determined to shield the innocent child from the horrors that surrounded them, her eyes reflecting a mix of pain, determination, and a profound sense of protectiveness. The darkness of the scene pressed in on them, an unrelenting force that threatened to consume their very souls in a never-ending nightmare.