Consciousness seemed to be an intangible thing.

Sometimes, she was right on the edge of it. She could hear the hum of voices, the sound of incantations, the rolling of wheels. But then darkness would swallow her once more and she would float away. Her body rolling through waves of thick black oil.

She did not dream.

Did not think.

She wasn’t Hermione Granger, best friend of Harry Potter.

She wasn’t Hermione Granger, courted by Draco Malfoy.

She wasn’t Hermione Granger, pet of the Dark Lord.

She just was in this darkness.

And that, perhaps, was all right with her.