A/N: Do you want to finish reading the book today? Do it! Now you can ;)
https://www.pаtreon.com/HPMan
May the magic be with you! Enjoy! :3
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Consciousness returned with difficulty as if floating out of the dark and deep depths of the abyss. There was no way to move or look around. But my thought processes started, and as soon as I became a little more aware of my own self and built a chain of past events, Rowena mercilessly threw a kind of data package about what happened into my consciousness.
I performed the mission to kill the Dark Lord in a rather extraordinary way. My consciousness, broken into three, didn't seem to care about any kind of plan at all - I came, I hit hard, and then it was up to me.
Also, I wondered why, in that state, I didn't kill the remaining Death Eaters? Well, or why didn't I strike at them initially? Why guess, though? I wouldn't know anything anyway.
Having listened to my senses again, I decided to carry out an easy magical diagnosis — everything hurt. Not much, but everywhere. The results turned out to be quite good — multiple curses and injuries, practically minimized during the fight, were cured. Still, the body was worn out and suffered an extremely powerful load, which is why I am suffering now.
Opening my eyes, I saw the wooden ceiling of the room allocated to me in Delphine's country house. With difficulty, I turned my head to the side to examine the cause of the strange pressure in my hand and dispel thoughts about "casts and fractures", which, despite their illogic, stubbornly climbed into the newly awakened consciousness. The reason turned out to be simple, but unexpected: sitting on a chair next to the bed and holding my hand by two fingers, like a small child, Hermione was sleeping on the same hand in her everyday clothes and robe. Her sleeping face bore the imprint of extreme fatigue. As soon as I tried to move my hand, a clear concern appeared on the sleeping girl's face, and the eyes under the eyelids actively moved. Without waking up, Hermione grabbed my hand more comfortably and fell back into a deep sleep, and an almost imperceptible smile and relief appeared on her face.
Women. They scare themselves and then suffer heroically, blaming men for their suffering if possible. What is she doing here, by the way?
"Delphine invited her as an assistant. You've caught so much weakened, I'm sorry, shit that you could have been made into a visual aid on how not to fight against dark wizards."
And what, Delphine couldn't handle it alone?
"How should I know? Basically, you could have done it yourself, so I think Delphine could have done it too. Maybe she invited Hermione for practice, maybe for something else."
Women...
"She's not you."
What do you mean?
"Hermione, unlike you, doesn't keep occlumency twenty-four by seven tight all year round. She is simply tormented by contradictions. The emotional part in love is struggling with a little girl who believes in ideals and miracles, and the logical part is trying to balance all this. And don't forget, and you know very well yourself, love is blind. The image of a person who has passed through the prism of love is somehow deprived of flaws, but when these flaws become absolutely obvious, the image collapses dramatically."
You brazenly take advantage of my abstract knowledge and inferences.
"I have my own at a minimum, what can I do? You, by the way, have fallen victim to such delusions more than once or twice in your past life, even though you have never loved anyone. It seems that you know a person for many years, and then he pulls some kind of trick, and you don't know how to feel about this. And when you think about it, you realize that a person has always been like this, and your consciousness simply ignored various facts."
Okay, okay, my fictional psychologist.
For a few minutes, I just looked at the peaceful face of the sleeping Hermione, after which I just grinned, and with an effort, put myself to sleep.