en cherchant

en cherchant

She moved her foot carefully, steps uncertain in unforgiving blackness. Hands stretched, searched for objects that could make her fall—she never realised how low tables could be. But where was he?

You're not trying hard enough. His stern voice jarred into her mind.

Not trying! She struggled not to simply fall to her knees and weep.

No. Stop. Breathe.

A whisper of cloth. A tendril of scent. Unexpectedly, physical presence became as clear as his mental one.

Turn. Step carefully. Reach forward.

Hermione smiled brilliantly as her fingers met with the expanse of fine black wool. "Found you, Professor…"