Disclaimer: I own nothing but a laptop, an imagination and some cheese
triangles. YUM!
This belongs to J.K. Rowling and the Warner Bros. Crew. Not me.
Chapter one: Run
Clip. Clop. Clip. Clop.
The sound of stilettos running down a dark alley way could be heard, the only noise on the damp, dark night. No light was there as a young woman with honey brown hair ran as fast as she could- in stilettos at least- down the alleys of her hometown on the outskirts of London.
Hermione Granger, the girl was named. Hogwarts student due to start in her seventh year the coming September, even though she thought she wouldn't make it. That was where the problem started. Dangerous lifestyle. Dangerous associates.
You see, as I know you all are probably confused to no end now, Hermione was no normal hogwarts student. Nothing alike the fame of Harry Potter, or the wealth of Draco Malfoy, but she was a muggleborn, and that lead to the trouble.
Hermione had what we muggles know as a Stalker, but not exactly that profile. Not a chance. She didn't know who it was, she probably never would, but she knew they wanted something from her, her life, how did she know?
It started in the middle of sixth year, when she had started drifting away from Harry and Ron. But enough of that, this isn't a run of the mill abandonment story, oh no. Its one of life and death.
But this was the cause of her drifting apart from Harry and Ron, even though everything was like a bed of roses with them now. She hadn't told them of course, just simply tweaked a few things and made it seem as she were just feeling a little off. It was the letters that got her.
She'd get them everyday at the same time, usually the same place. Eight O'clock sharp, at the breakfast table, the envelope deep maroon coloured and sealed with wax from some sort of black candle that smelled of sea kelp and scented oil.
They'd contain death threats, and she could remember when she got the first one, as she rested against a wall, stilettos now in hand as they prevented her from going that extra bit faster....
Hermione was going down to the Great Hall for breakfast, Harry and Ron at her sides, chatting about Snape and some prank that Fred and George had told them to play on him. Hermione knew that they were like marauders themselves, always making mischief.
She pushed open the heavy doors, Ron noticing her struggle and placing his arm out and opening it with great ease. He was around 6"3 and she was 5"10, though she seemed quite tall, she just couldn't match that.
She walked down to an empty space, where Ron and Harry placed themselves beside her, resuming their previous talk of pranks, slowly turning to quiddich.
It was almost eight, and Hermione was just tucking into a croissant when the mail came. Dozens of owls of all breeds and colours flitting about, trying to find their owners. It was then that it happened, an eagle owl swooped down to Hermione, the first of many maroon envelopes in its beak.
She took it cautiously, as she had never seen the owl before or the letter. Maybe it was Victor sending her a letter? No, scratch that, he never sent envelopes like that. She looked round, to see if anyone noticed the peculiar items. No one did. Harry and Ron were sat talking occasionally glancing at the Head table lest Snape be watching them.
She pulled it from the bird, which rejected her treats and flew off out the window as if it had some unknown grudge against her.
"Fine then," Hermione whispered to herself as it took off out the window.
Should she open it here? Something about the letter just didn't feel right, like it held some terrible secret or something. Nah. It was just a letter, right? Right?
She opened it deftly, with her nails slicing the delicate seal and opening it. She saw the parchment inside, folded expertly and tucked away safely. Pulling it out and opening it, Hermione opened it. She should have screamed right there and then.
In ink that looked like blood, there were the words:
HERMIONE TIMES UP. DEATH HAS BEEN EVADED TOO LONG NOW
It was just some stupid threat. No need to get wound up over that, she had been sent many when Rita Skeeter wrote that article about her sordid love affairs with the rich and famous, but that wasn't what made her want to thro up her insides, very violently.
It was the picture at the bottom. It was of a person with brown hair, stabbed in the stomach, trying to keep herself alive. And with horror Hermione realised it was her. With a dagger stuck in her. She was dying. Too much to comprehend.
She just sat there, staring at the picture with a mixture of confusion, horror, anguish and most of all worry. This was no ordinary threat. She jumped up, as if she had been scalded and raced out the Hall, receiving some strange looks, and the follow up of Harry and Ron.
She pelted into the nearest girls' bathroom, the letter in her sweating palms when she threw up the contents of her stomach. If you'd just seen that, who wouldn't? She dropped to her shaking knees, head in her hands and the letter at her knees, the terrible contents within revealed before her brown orbs.
What was she to do? Ignore the thing and get on with her life? Take action? She looked around and thought on the spur of the moment.
Grabbing the letter, she flushed it down the toilet, watching with some sort of satisfaction as the wet paper drifted away from the surface, away from her.
Hermione smiled as she recalled flushing it down the loo, and grinned when she told Harry and Ron her excuse for running out like that. Female problems she had said, and that made them shut right up.
But if the letter was gone, why was she running now? The letters hadn't stopped. They came everyday, it was a miracle that Harry and Ron hadn't noticed them, how thick can you get not to realise something like that? Not thick, just ignorant.
So now here she was. The seemed to have stopped following her. How did they know where she lived? She knew they must have been a wizard or witch, and probably attended Hogwarts, but that was it. Nothing else. Nada.
She looked to her right, her wand out in front of her. Just two streets to her home, and she was safe, safe as houses. Bad joke.
She ran, dithering as she was wearing no shoes, but still going. She could feel the gravel and stones prick at her soft skin and the hot sweat accumulating on her forehead, her mascara was already running down her face, in trails of sweat and tears.
You may ask, what is she doing out at almost midnight? Simply, her muggle cousin insisted that she go out partying with her to celebrate her engagement. She knew it was a bad idea. This stalker person had been following her almost everywhere none stop. But still she had no idea who it was.
No one had a grudge against her, apart from the Slytherins. Draco Malfoy, their black prince, was always taunting her, but would he be clever enough to do something like this? No way, he would never waste his time on a 'filthy mudblood' like her.
But then who? Millicent Bulstrode? Crabbe? Goyle? Parkinson? Nott? Zambini?
Who was she to say it was a Slytherin? As in the first place, she knew nothing.
Frantically searching her shoulder bag that she had with her, she pulled out her front door key as she ran into the drive, jamming the key in the door in less than ten seconds.
She pulled it out and slid down the door, breathing a sigh of relief. It was dark in the kitchen, and her parents were away at a conference so she had the house to herself, and her books. She still loved her books, and was confident that she had read at least two thirds of the library's books.
Getting up on tired and shaky legs, some of her confidence regained, she stalked over to the light switch and turned on the lights. They illuminated the place, so she could clearly see the kitchenette and breakfast bar. She walked over to the silver kettle and flicked the switch, turning it on.
Dropping her stilettos to the floor, she closed all the curtains in her home before returning to the kitchen to grab a coffee. Taking the mug of steaming liquid into her cold, clammy hands she walked over to the stools at the breakfast bar and pulled one out, placing herself on it and then looking down at her appearance.
A jean skirt that went down to mid- thigh. She knew it wasn't her style, but her cousin insisted, coupled with a shimmering aqua halter-top that tied around her neck, which was now crumpled and donned many creases and sweat marks. In one swift moment, Hermione pulled the top over her had after undoing the apart around her neck and threw it over the counter, pulling her mug further forward to her and swallowing a rather large amount of coffee.
She knew that she wouldn't sleep well, as she sat there in her underwear and jean skirt. Interesting apparel. The nightmares would come. Not normal nightmares, as remember readers this isn't your normal run of the mill story, oh no.
The nightmares would show images of her death, all different ways as well. There'd be knives, spells, horrific ways to die, torture and so on. But the worst part was when she'd wake up, hardly breathing and gasping for air as if some invisible force were squeezing the life out of her.
That started at the beginning of the summer, and she was glad that none of her dorm mates were there to witness it. That was a problem she'd tackle when she returned to school, try and isolate herself and prevent them when she was asleep, happy thoughts.
That reminded her. She looked up at the calendar that hung on the white wall, the summer pictures of bright flowers plastered at the top of it. She doubled back in shock when she saw what day it was.
It was the thirtieth of August. Two days until Hogwarts, her safe haven. She hadn't even done her shopping for books and equipment! She looked at the agenda for tomorrow and was glad to see that she wasn't doing anything. Making up her mind, she decided that tomorrow she'd pay a visit to Diagon Alley.
End of Chapter One.
Like it? Loathe it? Constructive criticism welcome! Just R+R PLEASE!!!!!! You know you want to!!!
Chapter one: Run
Clip. Clop. Clip. Clop.
The sound of stilettos running down a dark alley way could be heard, the only noise on the damp, dark night. No light was there as a young woman with honey brown hair ran as fast as she could- in stilettos at least- down the alleys of her hometown on the outskirts of London.
Hermione Granger, the girl was named. Hogwarts student due to start in her seventh year the coming September, even though she thought she wouldn't make it. That was where the problem started. Dangerous lifestyle. Dangerous associates.
You see, as I know you all are probably confused to no end now, Hermione was no normal hogwarts student. Nothing alike the fame of Harry Potter, or the wealth of Draco Malfoy, but she was a muggleborn, and that lead to the trouble.
Hermione had what we muggles know as a Stalker, but not exactly that profile. Not a chance. She didn't know who it was, she probably never would, but she knew they wanted something from her, her life, how did she know?
It started in the middle of sixth year, when she had started drifting away from Harry and Ron. But enough of that, this isn't a run of the mill abandonment story, oh no. Its one of life and death.
But this was the cause of her drifting apart from Harry and Ron, even though everything was like a bed of roses with them now. She hadn't told them of course, just simply tweaked a few things and made it seem as she were just feeling a little off. It was the letters that got her.
She'd get them everyday at the same time, usually the same place. Eight O'clock sharp, at the breakfast table, the envelope deep maroon coloured and sealed with wax from some sort of black candle that smelled of sea kelp and scented oil.
They'd contain death threats, and she could remember when she got the first one, as she rested against a wall, stilettos now in hand as they prevented her from going that extra bit faster....
Hermione was going down to the Great Hall for breakfast, Harry and Ron at her sides, chatting about Snape and some prank that Fred and George had told them to play on him. Hermione knew that they were like marauders themselves, always making mischief.
She pushed open the heavy doors, Ron noticing her struggle and placing his arm out and opening it with great ease. He was around 6"3 and she was 5"10, though she seemed quite tall, she just couldn't match that.
She walked down to an empty space, where Ron and Harry placed themselves beside her, resuming their previous talk of pranks, slowly turning to quiddich.
It was almost eight, and Hermione was just tucking into a croissant when the mail came. Dozens of owls of all breeds and colours flitting about, trying to find their owners. It was then that it happened, an eagle owl swooped down to Hermione, the first of many maroon envelopes in its beak.
She took it cautiously, as she had never seen the owl before or the letter. Maybe it was Victor sending her a letter? No, scratch that, he never sent envelopes like that. She looked round, to see if anyone noticed the peculiar items. No one did. Harry and Ron were sat talking occasionally glancing at the Head table lest Snape be watching them.
She pulled it from the bird, which rejected her treats and flew off out the window as if it had some unknown grudge against her.
"Fine then," Hermione whispered to herself as it took off out the window.
Should she open it here? Something about the letter just didn't feel right, like it held some terrible secret or something. Nah. It was just a letter, right? Right?
She opened it deftly, with her nails slicing the delicate seal and opening it. She saw the parchment inside, folded expertly and tucked away safely. Pulling it out and opening it, Hermione opened it. She should have screamed right there and then.
In ink that looked like blood, there were the words:
HERMIONE TIMES UP. DEATH HAS BEEN EVADED TOO LONG NOW
It was just some stupid threat. No need to get wound up over that, she had been sent many when Rita Skeeter wrote that article about her sordid love affairs with the rich and famous, but that wasn't what made her want to thro up her insides, very violently.
It was the picture at the bottom. It was of a person with brown hair, stabbed in the stomach, trying to keep herself alive. And with horror Hermione realised it was her. With a dagger stuck in her. She was dying. Too much to comprehend.
She just sat there, staring at the picture with a mixture of confusion, horror, anguish and most of all worry. This was no ordinary threat. She jumped up, as if she had been scalded and raced out the Hall, receiving some strange looks, and the follow up of Harry and Ron.
She pelted into the nearest girls' bathroom, the letter in her sweating palms when she threw up the contents of her stomach. If you'd just seen that, who wouldn't? She dropped to her shaking knees, head in her hands and the letter at her knees, the terrible contents within revealed before her brown orbs.
What was she to do? Ignore the thing and get on with her life? Take action? She looked around and thought on the spur of the moment.
Grabbing the letter, she flushed it down the toilet, watching with some sort of satisfaction as the wet paper drifted away from the surface, away from her.
Hermione smiled as she recalled flushing it down the loo, and grinned when she told Harry and Ron her excuse for running out like that. Female problems she had said, and that made them shut right up.
But if the letter was gone, why was she running now? The letters hadn't stopped. They came everyday, it was a miracle that Harry and Ron hadn't noticed them, how thick can you get not to realise something like that? Not thick, just ignorant.
So now here she was. The seemed to have stopped following her. How did they know where she lived? She knew they must have been a wizard or witch, and probably attended Hogwarts, but that was it. Nothing else. Nada.
She looked to her right, her wand out in front of her. Just two streets to her home, and she was safe, safe as houses. Bad joke.
She ran, dithering as she was wearing no shoes, but still going. She could feel the gravel and stones prick at her soft skin and the hot sweat accumulating on her forehead, her mascara was already running down her face, in trails of sweat and tears.
You may ask, what is she doing out at almost midnight? Simply, her muggle cousin insisted that she go out partying with her to celebrate her engagement. She knew it was a bad idea. This stalker person had been following her almost everywhere none stop. But still she had no idea who it was.
No one had a grudge against her, apart from the Slytherins. Draco Malfoy, their black prince, was always taunting her, but would he be clever enough to do something like this? No way, he would never waste his time on a 'filthy mudblood' like her.
But then who? Millicent Bulstrode? Crabbe? Goyle? Parkinson? Nott? Zambini?
Who was she to say it was a Slytherin? As in the first place, she knew nothing.
Frantically searching her shoulder bag that she had with her, she pulled out her front door key as she ran into the drive, jamming the key in the door in less than ten seconds.
She pulled it out and slid down the door, breathing a sigh of relief. It was dark in the kitchen, and her parents were away at a conference so she had the house to herself, and her books. She still loved her books, and was confident that she had read at least two thirds of the library's books.
Getting up on tired and shaky legs, some of her confidence regained, she stalked over to the light switch and turned on the lights. They illuminated the place, so she could clearly see the kitchenette and breakfast bar. She walked over to the silver kettle and flicked the switch, turning it on.
Dropping her stilettos to the floor, she closed all the curtains in her home before returning to the kitchen to grab a coffee. Taking the mug of steaming liquid into her cold, clammy hands she walked over to the stools at the breakfast bar and pulled one out, placing herself on it and then looking down at her appearance.
A jean skirt that went down to mid- thigh. She knew it wasn't her style, but her cousin insisted, coupled with a shimmering aqua halter-top that tied around her neck, which was now crumpled and donned many creases and sweat marks. In one swift moment, Hermione pulled the top over her had after undoing the apart around her neck and threw it over the counter, pulling her mug further forward to her and swallowing a rather large amount of coffee.
She knew that she wouldn't sleep well, as she sat there in her underwear and jean skirt. Interesting apparel. The nightmares would come. Not normal nightmares, as remember readers this isn't your normal run of the mill story, oh no.
The nightmares would show images of her death, all different ways as well. There'd be knives, spells, horrific ways to die, torture and so on. But the worst part was when she'd wake up, hardly breathing and gasping for air as if some invisible force were squeezing the life out of her.
That started at the beginning of the summer, and she was glad that none of her dorm mates were there to witness it. That was a problem she'd tackle when she returned to school, try and isolate herself and prevent them when she was asleep, happy thoughts.
That reminded her. She looked up at the calendar that hung on the white wall, the summer pictures of bright flowers plastered at the top of it. She doubled back in shock when she saw what day it was.
It was the thirtieth of August. Two days until Hogwarts, her safe haven. She hadn't even done her shopping for books and equipment! She looked at the agenda for tomorrow and was glad to see that she wasn't doing anything. Making up her mind, she decided that tomorrow she'd pay a visit to Diagon Alley.
End of Chapter One.
Like it? Loathe it? Constructive criticism welcome! Just R+R PLEASE!!!!!! You know you want to!!!