The funny thing about waking from dreams is the small instant it takes you to realise that that was all it really was – just a dream. Hermione sighed as she glanced through the small window near her bed to see the dim twilight colouring of the sky, it seemed that so much had passed in the small amount of time that she had been away from Hogwarts, yet when she thought back on it, some things really did just happen in an instant. It had all started several months ago, when her life had gone from being her usual ordered routine into something completely foreign, and the worst part of it all was her lack of ability to tell anybody about any of it.
Looking at it logically, she supposed that theoretically what had happened was possible. Despite the fact that she had spent the last few years of her school days furiously denying the ability of anyone to tell the future, let alone believing them enough to put any trust or faith in them, that was what she was now forced to do. Suddenly, it seemed she was no longer able to ignore the images that played over in her mind, as realistic as any waking dream could be. In fact it was the very accuracy of the visions she was having that were responsible for her current transgression from her Hogwarts education.
Sighing Hermione focused on the day ahead, and unconsciously she became aware of the all too familiar feeling of guilt that seemed to be an inescapable part of her. Unnoticed tears started a slow path down her face as the vision came uninvited into her subconscious, the slow waking dream of her parent's death that had become a part of her every day life for the past few weeks. As she rose to dress for the day she realised that this would be the last time she was to see her remaining family until the threat to them was over, however long that might be. Moving through to the bathroom Hermione stared at the pale reflection of herself in the mirror noticing the haunted look that seemed to be etched into her face. It was a look that seemed all too familiar to her nowadays, for as she had realised the unfortunate accuracy of her dreams, she had undertaken the responsibility of warning the Order of the attacks, or at least the details of the attacks that she had seen. However the pressure of keeping her identity unknown to the members of the Order as she wrote her anonymous warnings more and more frequently, as well as the increasing effects of the lack of sleep and the waking dreams she was having meant that the strain was really beginning to take it's toll, and the face she saw in the mirror reflected that all too clearly.
After showering Hermione pulled on her formal clothes and with brimming eyes realised that now there was no-one to buy her the high necked shirts she hated, no-one to fuss over her tangled mane of hair that hung loosely down her back, and no-one to tell her to straighten her skirt, or polish her shoes before leaving the house. Slowly leaving the room Hermione descended the stairs and entered the kitchen where her Aunt was listlessly stirring a cup of coffee lost in thought. Not knowing what to say Hermione for once settled quietly down at the table and forced herself to pour a cup of tea, more from habit than from thirst.
A subtle knock at the door several minutes later roused Hermione from her dream state as she rose to admit a sober looking Professor Dumbledore with Professor McGonagall by his side. As the two Professors entered, Hermione gave them a wavering smile for a greeting and introduced them to her Aunt Rose. A woman who despite being only 34, had aged as the weight of her sister's death settled and now looked many years older. Dumbledore gazed at Hermione's aunt and was rewarded with a watery smile. "So...you would be the Professor Dumbledore Hermione always talks about, she told me to expect you today" Rose stated. "My sincerest apologies that the circumstances could not have been happier" Dumbledore replied, noting the pale drawn looks and dark circles showing prominently on the faces of both females at the table.
"What time are we expected at the service Aunt Rose?" Hermione quietly inquired "The church is booked for 11, the cemetery for midday" Rose replied as she examined her fingernails, "We will have everyone back to the house afterwards for a final farewell before...well before we leave". Hermione sighed as she once more thought of the upcoming day for her Aunt and Uncle who were being moved to a new house and country by the Order in order to protect them, after they had seen to the funeral of Hermione's parents, killed two days previously in what had been declared an 'accident' by muggles shortly after their death. Once again Hermione was reminded of the recurring dreams she had had in the nights leading up to her parents death, and the familiar weight of guilt settled firmly upon her shoulders as she accepted the burden she carried, to think she had known of the circumstances and could have stopped them from driving to their deaths. The tears flowed unhindered down her cheeks as she saw the vivid flashes of colour in her mind of her parents in the car as it had gone around the corner and then mysteriously flipped onto its roof before hitting a tree killing both of her parents nearly instantly.
As Hermione went to her bedroom for the last time she marvelled at how bleak her room now looked, it was, she reflected, no longer the happy place she associated with many of her cherished childhood memories. She could still picture the exact layout of all her books and clothes, the pictures on the walls and the placing of the furniture around her. Her walls had been covered with photos of her with Harry and Ron at Hogwarts as well as with the Weasley family who she had spent a part of the Christmas holiday's with, her favourite songs lyrics and poems had been laboriously copied out and had been placed around her room, a sight that had always kept her smiling when she had come home.
However, with the loss of her parents the house no longer felt like her home, its walls and rooms seemed barren and her once peaceful hideaway held no comfort or warmth for her anymore. It was she thought ironically, a shell of what it had formerly been, just as she felt a large part of who she was had been irreversibly erased, leaving her with only half of who she had been. Sighing she let out the long breath she hadn't realised she held and collected her trunk and bookbag from the floor. McGonagall who had been double checking the house for any signs of trouble now popped her head into Hermione's room and asked if she was ready to leave, and so with a last look behind her, Hermione set her head determinately, allowed her professor to shrink her luggage and walked out of her home with her head held high.
Stopping at the front door Minerva paused, suddenly turning to Dumbledore, and despite the old wizard's abilities with occulmency, she saw his face for once resembled that of an open book where rage, sorrow and something Minerva hoped was not fear flickered through his eyes. "Albus, Is there anything I should know here, something just doesn't seem to be sitting right and this whole situation has a very strange feel about it that I just can't place". The abrupt eye contact Dumbledore made with her as she spoke confirmed what she already knew to be true. "It happened again didn't it Albus, this is what the warning we received was about wasn't it? The vision...that vision you were told of, it was of Hermione's parents wasn't it? She asked in hushed tones. "I'm afraid so Minerva, it was described too accurately to be anything else, the question now remaining is whether or not the source of the information we received was responsible in any way for what happened, or whether we have another Sybil in our midst".
As they turned together towards the muggle car that was to take them to the church for the funerals, the clearly worried looks cast her way ensured Hermione that the truth had better not be known, after all, how could one explain to their headmaster that they had known of their parents demise and had done little to stop the events from taking place. In Hermione's mind the fact that she was going to have to live with the guilt of that decision for the rest of her life was enough of a punishment. She had just realised she had let the two people she held dearest to her be taken away, all because of her stubbornness in believing that the future could not be seen or predicted, let alone altered. The fact that she had dutifully reported, anonymously of course, the flashes of events she saw in her sleep to Dumbledore, and therefore the Order, had seemed good enough until now.
She had thought that by telling them what she had seen that they would be able to figure out the missing links that had seemed so obvious to her, but misfortune had proved her wrong, and the consequences were too high for her to ignore anymore. The very thought of not stopping more attacks when she had prior knowledge of them seemed to be at first a stupid thing for her to have done, but, knowing of her talent in divination, or lack thereof, Hermione could hardly profess to suddenly have intimate details of Voldemort's attack plans. She had no doubt that by revealing her identity as the source of the information she would be labeled a traitor and cast out from the only place she would now belong, back in the castle turrets of Hogwart's.
During the slow journey to the church Hermione thought back over the past two months and longed for the times before her strange visions had begun. At first she had thought the visions had just been bad nightmares brought on by the sudden increase in activity by Voldemort and his death eaters around the countryside, however the true revelation of what her dreams contained scared her more than anything she had ever come across. The vivid details and scenes of destructions had left the image of death imprinted upon her and the scent of blood and burning sharp in her mind. It was however the progressively detailed nature of the nightmares that had at last made Hermione realise that what she saw in her sleep was in fact the gruesome reality of attacks that were yet to come. The morning after a particularly memorable dream Hermione had spent the day so afraid of loud yelling that she physically flinched and covered her ears as she cowered in the quidditch stands that afternoon. It was then that someone realised things weren't as they seemed.
Ginny usually so cheerful during the games, had sat through that game clutching Hermione's hand and trying to soothe her, not understanding why Hermione had a terrified look in her eyes, or why tears were streaming down her face. Confused, Ginny could do little more than hope she was helping in some way by simply being there and holding onto Hermione's hand. The excuse Hermione had given later of simply having a bad headache and sore eyes, she knew, had not washed with Ginny, but at the time had been the only excuse that she could think of. It was shortly after that game, Hermione remembered, that she had truly realised what her 'dreams' were, and in doing so had been left with decisions to make. After the game Hermione had gone straight to her room and warded the door – several times. Sitting on her bed she had closed her eyes and drawn deep calming breaths until the tears and shaking had subsided. Picking up a quill and some parchment she had begun to write the details of the dream that had come to her at the quidditch game.
It was a small house, a cottage really, with whitewashed walls and a tall chimney with curling smoke bellowing from the top. The front of the cottage was covered on one side with small rambling roses that grew over a trellis and twined around the small fence that arched out to the side of the cottage and around to the rear. The small yellow roses were a welcoming site and the perfume from their blooms was intoxicating. The door to the cottage was wide open and a small woman had come through it walking onto a graveled path calling for her children. Two little heads had appeared from the branches of a Redwood tree and they had giggled as their mother had attempted to look for them around the small garden, finally smiling as she had spotted the pair giggling above her head. Seconds later a little boy had appeared at the base of the tree and had run to their mother firmly attaching himself to her leg. Laughing she had picked the muddy child up on her hip and returned to the house. Several minutes later there had suddenly been six distinct popping sounds as the figures in black arrived at their destination. Wands drawn they had approached the house and entered the open door silently.
What had happened next Hermione hesitated to remember, let alone put into words.
The ominously glowing skull shape appeared over the house and shortly after the woman's screams had started. Minutes passed as the screaming continued, mixed with the sounds of a childs cry. After what seemed an eternity to the watching Hermione, the womans lifeless body had slumped to the ground followed by that of her son. Laughing the deatheaters had kicked the bodies one more time, and with a cry of "Incendio" disapparated from the house as it was consumed by flames. Had they waited any longer they would have seen the small dirt covered child scramble to the ground, furiously wiping at his tear streaked face and calling in a choked voice for his mother.
Sighing Hermione had put down the quill and rolled up the parchment, put a concealing charm on it, and then buried the parchment amongst her old essays in a corner of her trunk. Then she had placed the last ward for the night around her bed, and climbed in, hoping for once she would manage to sleep through the entire night without disturbance.
To anyone who didn't know Hermione, the difference after breakfast the next day wouldn't have been noticeable, but to those who knew her well, and those with a trained eye, something changed. The morning had started off normal enough, Hermione had woken up, feeling refreshed from having slept the whole night through, she had showered, dressed and prepared for the day, filling her book bag with her class textbooks, parchments and homework, and joined the others in the Gryffindor common room for the journey down to the great hall. Breakfast was in full swing when the owls came swooping through the hall delivering mail to eager hands. As Hermione unrolled her copy of the Daily Prophet her stomach dropped, her face drained of all colour and a small gasp escaped her lips. Centered on the front page of the Prophet was a pictured framed with the words 'Brutal murder leaves orphaned child' Below the caption was a picture of the house she had seen in her dream, the same house where the two boys had been playing in their treehouse and laughing with their mother just hours before, and yet now she knew without having to read further, what had happened at that house just over two hours ago.
Dropping the paper she hurriedly babbled something about feeling unwell and all but ran from the hall. Had everyone not been so shocked by what they were reading they may have noticed the girl's departure, but as it happened only Ginny had seen her leave, and she too quickly excused herself as she set off to find Madame Pomfrey.
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Ok there you have it, there's the intro...intrigued? If so then hit the little button below so I know I'm not writing complete crap and that the story might be worth continuing...If not review anyway, as long as it's constructive I don't mind the criticism. So review if you can cause you know all authors thrive on reviews really we do...
By the way I should warn you when I say this is my first Harry Potter FanFic so if any of the characters seem a little OOC, that'll be me taking some artistic license on the lovely characters J.K Rowling dreamt up (really, what ever did we do without her and her books?) As usual though the rights and all the rest of it belong to her and her associates, the only thing that belongs to me is my little spin on things aka the plot.
Happy reading
Fabchun