Her name was Samantha, Samantha Summers. She was a sixteen year old girl who had once been known for her joyful spirit and happiness.
Her favourite hobby had been flying on her broom, feel the wind blow through her hair, feel freedom.
She had been a true friend, a loyal friend to those who knew her. She had been the best of people… She had been important to everyone who took five minutes of their time to talk to her… Because she was indeed unique. No one hated her. It was, what her father called, a gift from her mother's side.
Her mother, Mary Summers, had been murdered two months ago, but that's a story for some other time.
Samantha had been a marvellous person. And then, it happened. She had been run over by some muggle machine and was in – what the Healers called – a coma.
Her father, John, had broken down. He had lost his wife and now was about to lose the person he loved the most.
In one of the many rooms in St. Mungus laid Samantha Summers. Her skin was paler than usual, making her brown locks stand out and her usually shinny, big, warm brown eyes were closed.
Her father sat next to her holding her hand, hoping she'd hear his prays and wake up.
This was all very frightful for John… So you can imagine Samantha's face when she saw herself lying in a hospital bed with her father besides her in tears and weak.
Samantha looked down at herself. Something was wrong. She could see past herself. And who was that girl in that bed who looked just like her?
'Daddy, Daddy,' she called. 'Daddy, who is that?' she asked gesturing to the girl who looked just like her in the bed.
Her father took no notice of her words.
Samantha moved closer to him and tried to shake him, but instead she went right through him.
'What the-'
She looked down at herself. She was defiantly paler, much paler the usual, she was passing right through people, her father couldn't hear her… Was she dead?
But if she was dead why was she still where she was? Why wasn't she in heaven or wherever dead people went to once they died?
She looked at her body in the bed. She was in a coma. So was she somehow half dead? No, no one could be half-dead.
And she knew that if she'd ever be introduced to the choice between life and death, death would be her option.
Life hadn't made much sense since her mother's death, it just didn't. Life had become meanless, empty without her.
She wanted to join her mother… She wanted to die. Her mission on Earth, whatever it was, had been done. She had had her joys, her laughs, her tears… She had experienced pain, hurt, joy, freedom… She had done it all. She was more than ready to die. That's what she wanted.
Just as she thought of it a white light appeared in front of her. And then she saw her, her mother.
She was prettier then Samantha remembered. The dreams she had with her mother really didn't make her any justice…
'Mum,' she called weakly.
'Sammy,' said her mother with a calm smile on her pink lips. 'So, you want to cross over?'
'Yes,' Samantha replied at once but then she remembered: her father.
She glanced over her shoulder and what she saw broke her heart (did ghosts, or whatever she was right then, even have a heart?). He had tears, silent tears, rolling down his face as he held the Samantha on the bed's hand.
Maybe she didn't want to die just yet. Maybe she needed to stay for her father. Perhaps saving him was her mission. She didn't know what to do now.
'I'm sorry, Sammy,' said her mother. 'You're not ready yet.'
'But- No, mum!'
It was too late, the light, her mother, had all disappeared. Samantha let out a breath of frustration. She was confused, lost.
A part of her wanted to die, for Samantha felt that a part of her had died the night her mother had been murdered. But another part of her wanted to stay, to live, for she knew that if she did die her father would as well.
She was the half keeping him alive. If she died he'd die, in the inside, at least.
So what did Samantha really want, to live or to die?
Well, seen that her mother had disappeared that settled the matter, didn't it?
She'd just have to get back into her body. But when she tried she just went past her body and the bed. Something was wrong.
She was panicking now. She couldn't die, she couldn't live, and people couldn't see her or hear her… What was she going to do?
She tried everything, from moving objects to touching her father but nothing.
Why couldn't he see her? She could see Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, and the Bloody Baron, from Slytherin, and all the other house's ghosts at Hogwarts, why couldn't he see her?
She let out a breath of frustration trying to figure a way out of that situation.
Harry's P.O.V.
'Diagon Alley's really different, isn't it?' asked Ron as he sat down.
'Defiantly,' said Hermione taking a seat next to the red haired.
Harry took a seat next to Ron as well but said nothing about Diagon Alley.
He could still hear Narcissa Malfoy saying Sirius's name.
Anger and pain grew inside of him but he said nothing and tried his best not to show his anger.
Ron and Hermione were looking at each other quit intensively until she grabbed a book to hide her blush.
She might as well not have, for a second later an owl hit the window.
'Whose owl is that?' asked Hermione.
'Not mine,' replied Harry uninterested.
'I've never seen it,' said Ron raising to his feet.
'Oh,' Hermione let out a laugh. 'I know who it belongs to.'
Ron, at once, took back his seat and leaned towards Harry.
'Bet you it's Vicky's,' he whispered.
Hermione stopped walking towards the window and glared at Ron.
'In a matter of fact it isn't,' she snapped making Ron jump and turn red. 'It's Sam's.'
'Sam,' repeated Ron. 'Another pervert pen pal of yours?'
'Sam is a girl,' said Hermione. 'And Vicktor is not a pervert!'
She then opened the window and allowed Moony to enter.
Moony was an owl that was completely white with deep blue eyes.
'So,' said Ron still blushing 'who's Sam, a muggle?'
Hermione raised an eyebrow.
'No, she's a Gryffindor, in our year, Samantha, Samantha Summers…'
At once, realization hit Ron.
'Oh, you mean the one that makes Malfoy make a fool of himself every time she's around?'
'Yeah,' said Hermione stiffly. 'Apparently she's the only one with the touch.'
'What?'
'Nothing.'
'Summers,' repeated Harry making the other two – who had forgotten his presence – jump in surprise. 'Hey, there was a woman, Mary Summers who was found-'
'Murdered three months ago,' finished Hermione. 'She was Sam's mum.'
'She didn't seem-'
'She focused on her O.W.L's to distract herself from her mother's death and the Ministry kept it quiet.'
'Why?' asked Harry.
Hermione bit her lower lip as if not feeling very comfortable about the topic.
'I don't think it's my business to tell you,' she said and both boys noticed how carefully she was choosing her words.
'Hermione,' called Harry in a warning tone.
'Look, I'm not sure, it's just theory,' she said.
'Your theories are usually right,' pointed out Ron.
'But if it isn't-'
'We'll take the chance,' said Harry rising to his feet.
'Oh, alright then,' said Hermione giving in. 'Mrs. Summers worked in the Ministry, but she never told Samantha in which department.'
Harry and Ron looked at each other.
'Ok,' said Harry slowly.
'She never told Samantha in which department she worked in,' repeated Ron. 'That's weird.'
'Exactually,' said Hermione. 'And which job in the Ministry is so secretive you couldn't tell your own daughter?'
Again, Ron and Harry looked at each other and then at Hermione and, together, the three echoed:
'The Unspeakables...'
'So she was an Unspeakable, she was murdered, her murder was covered up,' said Harry going through the facts. 'So, it could have easily been a Death Eater on Voldemort's orders-'
'Do you have to say his name?' asked Ron.
'-who killed her,' finished Harry ignoring completely Ron's interruption.
Hermione nodded.
'Because she didn't tell them what they wanted to know…'
'And that's what the Ministry guessed had happened,' said Hermione. 'And the thought of that becoming public… They made sure both Samantha and her father were told absolute lies. But Samantha's not an idiot and she knew something was wrong.'
Harry felt disguised. The Ministry had no respect for the Summers.
Anyone who died as Mrs. Summers had, in the respectful way she did, deserved to be respected.
'Samantha,' said Harry. He didn't remember ever meeting anyone by that way. 'Are you sure she's in our year?'
'She's in my dorm, Harry,' replied Hermione. 'You're just always too busy to notice, lost in your own thoughts.'
Harry really didn't remember anyone called Samantha Summers. It was a pity though. He was sure he'd like anyone who made Draco Malfoy look like a fool, as Ron had said.
Ron and Harry got lost in conversation about the lessons Dumbledore had mentioned he'd be teaching Harry.
'(…), don't you think so, Hermione?' asked Ron.
He waited for a reply but none came from their female friend.
'Hermione,' called Ron.
When they looked at Hermione they rose to their feet.
All colour had left her face, her eyes had grown wide in pure horror, her hand was over her mouth as if trying to stop herself from yelling and her wide in horror eyes were fixed on the piece of parchment that was in her shaky hands.
'Hermione,' called Harry softly 'are you alright?'
Hermione's brown wide eyes left the piece of parchment to look at the two boys.
She fell in a chair and her hand slowly left her mouth.
'Hermione,' called Ron fearfully 'Hermione, say something!'
Hermione looked at the piece of parchment again and then at the boys.
'Sa- Sam- she- she- she's in a coma,' she managed to say.
Although she had never told them, Sam was the only person Hermione was ever – shall we say – girly.
Sam was the first to know about Hermione going to the Yule Ball with Vicktor Krum. Actually, Vicktor sent a lot of notes to Hermione through Sam.
Sam did always understand whenever the boys weren't. And Hermione – she'd never say it out load – trusted Samantha more than she ever trusted Ginny.
In a way, Samantha was Hermione's best friend.
And now, that girl was nearly gone, in a coma.
