Ron stopped when he was nearly on top of the stairs.
He could see the dismal corridor clearly- with faded tapestry, a patchy carpet, and two doors. One was his, a bright yellow door, with delicate dust patterns traced up its side. The other was down the corridor- a deep brown one, which was slightly ajar, revealing a slice of the room within- a light bedstead, a writing desk drawer, and a light pink wall.
Hermione's room.
He felt a strange sense of unease, as he crossed the corridor, and lightly pushed the door open, to reveal the tidy room- the writing desk, with a sheaf of paper, and a few pens in a ceramic bowl, the bed, neatly made with pink floral sheets, and the vanity table with the limited collection of coral bracelets and cosmetics, all arranged in a patter of chilling tidiness
He knew what he wanted to do, and yet it filled him with a sense of deep foreboding. For some reason, his gaze was averted towards the mirror, which was reflecting the window and the brightly printed curtain, which was fluttering in the afternoon breeze, and casting a dark shadow. Something seemed to stir in the darkness.
Hermione...he felt a feeling of loss in his heart. He was loosing her. Ever since coming back from the vacation, ever since she had come to the Burrow to stay with him, he had sensed the changes in her, so subtle that even Harry hadn't noticed. The sadistic twist to her lips, the cold, unfeeling look in her once- warm eyes, and the tinkle of laughter that had been replaced by a cynical bark that alarmed him
The first entry was made sometime in the middle of the sixth year. Ron flipped the pages till he reached the last entry. It had been made on the last day of sixth year- just a month back. The day of Voldemort's attack.
He closed his eyes and felt fresh pain fall from the raw wound. Then, he opened his eyes, and beagn reading through a film of tears.
Today, it happened.
What all of us have been fearing and dreaming about from the minute our head touched the pillow, but the seriousness of which none of us understood. The attack opened new worlds to us, new branches of life, and different paths to take. It washed away my old weakness, my old belief in golden courage and bravery...the foolish stance of limitation I called loyalty, and showed me the wonders of the cutting blade of cunning, and the chilling clarity of darkness.
It changed my life.
I went o bed so happy and content- the feast was over, Dumbledore had made a short speech on how he believe that Voldemort's long-drawn absence signified his fall from power, I was going to see my parents the next day. I felt truly happy.
But when I woke up, it was to black chaos, and screams, flames licking at my bed, and the acrid smell of acid and death burning in the dorm. Beside me, a cold figure slumped- it was Lavender, her body mangled and charred, and her eyes open and lifeless. Her hand drew across my heart, and I felt my blood run cold.
Stumbling through the blind chaos, I felt a strong pair of arms grab me, a cry of "it's Granger!" and next thing I knew I was being hauled across the dorm to the window. I was thrown out.
I believed that I was going to hit the ground, that my broken, twisted body would be found the next day, but strong arms caught me, and pinned me to a broom, that began flying over the Forbidden Forest. I and my captor flew through intense magical and time barriers, breaking powerful and dark magic the whole time. And then, suddenly, it loomed in front of me.
It was a castle, so tall that the turreted towers had lightening bolts flashing at them. We had to cross a moat, and then we came to an immense pair of finely wrought iron doors. The Death eater muttered a curse and they swung open with a sepulchral moan. We stormed into the dark corridor that was reeking of evil and bitter hate. I was dragged down its length, till we came to another pair of doors, wooden, with fine embossments on its surface. They were flung open, and the full glory of the room hit me.
It was a huge room, carved out of black marble of onyx, with no windows, but with a cavernous atmosphere, and an echoing silence. There were hundred of chairs, with hooded men seated on them, all their eyes transfixed on the raised onyx platform, where I saw...him.
He was dressed in black satin robes. His hood was pulled low over his face, but I could see the thin jaw line, and mouth, twisted in an expression of distinct sadism, his pale hands clutching a bloody skull in his lap. The minute he saw me, he gestured towards an iron chair, and I was roughly hauled to it, and chained up. Then, The Dark Lord stood up and held up the skull.
'My brothers,' he said, in a soft, chilling voice, 'I give you...Dumbledore!'
My heart sank- at that minute I knew, knew good had lost- Dumbledore, our only hope had gone, and without it I was left alone, a hollow shell.
'He is gone,' Voldemort continued, hissing, 'Potter still lives, but without the Old Fool's protection, he will lie in his grave soon...or I might just feed him to the vultures!'
He barked with laughter.
'Hogwarts was attacked today,' he said, 'and all Potter's close friend's who managed to flee will be tracked down and killed. But one...one remains in our midst even now.'
His red eyes turned to me, and I shrunk back in my chained captivity. He laughed cruelly.
'Yes, Miss Granger has been spared, because I have a small...proposition to make. A "no" shall of course, ensure death. However, our young lady had the potential, and a distinct dark Side that I cannot ignore. I see it in her movements, the bitterness of her eyes, and the motion on her arms- she had potential to become powerful...as powerful as me in the Dark Arts! Miss Granger, I will make a deal with you! Join us, under my command, and you shall live a full life, with mystery and danger, with the crowning ideals of Salazar Slytherin himself ruling over your weaker ones. Join us and help us in killing Potter- Join our flight, our ascent to power, and meet...life...'
He said the last word with bitter satisfaction. I stared at him with large eyes.
'Never!' I spat.
But as his red eyes bore into me, I began to feel doubts. I was choosing Death over a life of cutting ideals, romance, mystery and thrill I had always wanted. Unwillingly, I found myself admiring the dark Lords blade like cunning and sharp mind. His logic penetrated mine, and filled with the satisfaction of kill. Suddenly, I realized what to do. I realized what was right-.
Ron gasped as a cold hand slipped across the back of his neck. He whirled around, dropping the journal, and saw Hermione, stepping out of the shadow that the curtain had spread. Her eyes were gleaming with malignant satisfaction and her smile revelaed her intentions. He didn't even have time to cry out. She raised her wand, and a blast of green light, carried him away to the black world from which there was no retrun. His body slumped over, his eyes still wide with terror. The journal lay on the floor.
Still smiling, Hermione picked the journal up, locked it and replaced it in her desk.
'He knew too much,' she murmured, bringing down her wand, and vanishing Ron's body.
AN- Dark, isn't it! That's what I'm aiming at...there's going to be lots of Death in this story, that's distinctly morbid and depressing.