"Hermione! Run away, hurry!" Hermione heard Harry's strained yells through
the blinding rain. She followed the sound of his voice, ignoring what it
was saying. She refused to let her best friend traipse alone in the
forbidden forest with a murderer.
Large raindrops pummeled through the trees and stung the bare skin on Hermione's arms. She searched desperately for Harry, determined to help him. He wouldn't be able to fight alone, especially not with the injuries he had withstood. Hermione saw a splash of blood on a nearby bush before the flowing rains washed it away. He had been there only moments ago. She followed the dissipating trail of red liquid deeper into the thick trees.
Minutes later, Hermione's heart leapt with relief when she saw a shadowy figure running in her direction.
"Harry. Harry!" She waved her arms in the air, so he could see her more clearly. The figure paused, then came over to her. As he emerged from the cloud of rain, Hermione gasped and stepped backward. The large muscles and narrow, evil eyes didn't belong to Harry. The man smirked and pointed a wand at her.
The rain engulfed Hermione, blocking all of her senses. She felt curiously light stepping over a thick, wet branch. She couldn't hear anything at all, except the sound of blood pumping through her head. Hermione walked into a small clearing, nearly tripping over a heap of cloth at her feet. She looked down. A halo of blood surrounded the head of Harry Potter. He was breathing, but just barely.
The rain began to ease, and Hermione could saw the bushes beside her shake furiously. The same shadowy figure was crouched behind the wet branches a few meters away. Hermione saw the wave of his wand, and then a flash of bright green light. She was thrown backwards into the grass, her ears ringing. She turned her head to the left where Harry's pale face was only feet away from her. He had stopped breathing.
Hot tears mixed with the rain and blood on Hermione's face. She tried to reach out to Harry, to close his empty, staring eyes. She couldn't. Lightening flashed and Hermione closed her own eyes, sinking into darkness.
Someone was crying. The sobs woke Hermione from a horrendously long and painful sleep. She opened her eyes slowly, squinting in the bright sunlight. She was in a bed, with a window on her right and a curtain on her left.
Hermione realized that she was in the hospital wing; but why, she didn't know. The crying person was a woman, and Hermione could hear words of comfort being whispered by a sad male voice. There were more than just those two people in the room, though. Hermione heard shifting footsteps and faint murmurs and the blowing of a nose every now and then. It wasn't until she smelled the flowers that she understood what was happening. The room smelled like and had the same oppressive hush as the room where she attended her Aunt Margaret's funeral visitation.
For one crazy moment, Hermione thought that maybe she was dead, but realized that if she was, she probably wouldn't have such a terrible headache.
Madam Pomfrey poked a sad face around the curtain and wordlessly handed Hermione a steaming mug. Hermione winced as she drank the bitter potion.
"How are you feeling?" Madam Pomfrey asked, feeling Hermione's forehead.
"My head hurts," she confessed, "and I'm confused. what's going on?" Madam Pomfrey conjured a cold cloth and placed it over Hermione's eyebrows. As she bent towards her, Hermione saw that Madam Pomfrey was crying.
"Just rest." The nurse's voice was gentler than Hermione had ever heard it. Not that Madam Pomfrey wasn't sympathetic, but she had a presence of firm nurturing.
Before any more questions could be asked, Madam Pomfrey disappeared behind the curtain.
The last thing Hermione wanted to do was rest, the cold cloth did nothing to ease her headache, and her curiosity began to get the best of her. She got out of the bed, her bare feet hesitant to touch the cold stone floor. Without honestly caring what everyone would think of her in pajamas, she stepped around the curtain.
There were at least a dozen people crowded around one of the beds. Dumbledore, Madam Pomfrey, Ron, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were just a few of them. Before Hermione could find out what was going on, Ron saw her standing there and walked over to her. Hermione's breath caught in her throat. Ron was crying. She had never seen him cry before, not even when he had broken his leg during their third year.
Ron stood in front of her, trying to say something, but unable to make any audible sound. His chin shook as a large tear made its way down his cheek. Hermione felt herself begin to cry, just seeing Ron so upset. Not really knowing what to do, she placed a hand on his shoulder. Ron pursed his lips, and shook his head slowly.
"Oh, Hermione!" he sobbed, and pulled her into a hug. She felt hot tears trickle onto her neck and she became extraordinarily uncomfortable. Not only had Ron never cried like this, but he'd also never hugged her like this.
"Ron, what's wrong?" Hermione said, wiggling out of his embrace. He looked at her oddly through his bloodshot eyes as if it were blatantly obvious what was wrong and she was asking an unreasonable question.
"Hermione, go back to your bed." Madam Pomfrey's hand appeared on her shoulder. Everyone surrounding the bed suddenly noticed that Hermione was there. Ignoring everybody's strange stares, she looked past them, at the bed surrounded with flowers. A tuft of untidy hair poked out of the sheets.
Madam Pomfrey began to shoo Hermione back to her bed.
"Wait! Who is that?" Hermione said, pointing hysterically. "It's not. it's not." Madam Pomfrey led her away. Hermione couldn't say it. It couldn't be Harry.
"NO!" Hermione wrenched herself from Madam Pomfrey's grasp and ran over to the bed. The people parted like the Red Sea as she approached.
It was Harry. His pale hands folded on his chest, which lacked the rising and falling of life. His scar stood out vividly on his ghostly white face. Hermione was sobbing silently, and reached out to trace his scar with a shaking finger.
"Keep her away!" someone shouted. A flurry of hands grabbed her and began to pull her back.
"Wait! Stop!" she cried. "I just want to say goodbye!". The more she struggled, the harder the hands gripped her arms. She caught a quick glimpse of the two men holding her. One looked mousy and a bit withered with age, but his strong grip contradicted his looks. The other was built like a gorilla and could have easily held Hermione's arms on his own. Neither of them were familiar to her.
She soon found herself back in her bed, crying hysterically. What was going on?
Harry's still chest had etched itself into her memory, and she was unable to forget the image of his lifeless body lying in that bed. Her head pounded painfully and her eyes burned with tears. Every breath was a sob as she tried to think rationally, but her thoughts began to melt together incomprehensively.
All she wanted to do was to be with the people on the other side of the curtain. She wanted Mrs. Weasley to wrap her in a tight hug, and to listen to Dumbledore's soothing advice. She wished she could return Ron's embrace, and touch Harry's white face.
But she couldn't go back. The two men stood at the foot of her bed with their backs to her, guarding. Hermione shook her head in disgust, realizing that they weren't guarding her for her safety. They were making sure she didn't go anywhere.
She couldn't figure out what she might have done to deserve this. Hermione laid back, closed her eyes, and tried to recall what had happened that made her go to the hospital wing.
As she wiped away hot tears, Hermione racked her brain, attempting to remember with all her might, but it was like something out of a dream from many years ago. She recollected the summer after her fourth year, going to Vicktor Krum's mansion and meeting his family. She remembered returning home, and then buying supplies for her fifth year. She vaguely remembered getting on the Hogwarts Express, and recalled that it had made an unexpected stop, and that was it.
Something had happened.. Somehow, Harry had died.
After a few minutes, anger began to swell up inside of Hermione. The men weren't leaving, and she could hear Dumbledore's voice close by. How could everyone just let her be treated like that? Why didn't someone help her?
She swung her legs out of her bed and stood up. One of the two men turned around, brandishing his wand at Hermione. Hermione ignored him, and began to walk around him.
He stepped sideways, blocking her way. He pointed his wand into her face.
"Get back into bed." He said calmly. The other man turned and pulled out his wand. Hermione just blankly stared at them. She tried to push her way past him, but he grabbed her harshly and wouldn't let her get by.
"Ow! Stop it!" she said, pushing his hand off of her arm. Her painful yell must have carried over the curtain, because the voices behind it became silent.
"Help me!" she cried, knowing that everyone would hear her. If she couldn't go to them, she would make them come to her. The man tried to push her back into bed, but she wasn't going to be pushed like that anymore. She slapped his hand away from her, and tried to run around him again. To her dismay, nobody was coming around the curtain. The man was obviously fed up with her. He pinned her arms to her side painfully and picked her up. She kicked wildly at the man's groin, but unfortunately didn't make contact.
"Put her down," she heard someone say softly. Over the man's shoulder, Hermione saw Dumbledore's white hair. She was lowered to the ground, and the man stepped back. Hermione looked at Dumbledore and gave him a look of gratitude, but was taken back at what she saw in his expression. His eyes were absent of familiarity; the twinkle was gone. Instead, the deepest of sorrow seemed to be etched into his brow, and his eyes were very red. It seemed like his soul had broken in two.
"What's going on?" Madam Pomfrey appeared beside Dumbledore. "Hermione, back in bed!" Hermione climbed in almost automatically, knowing that she could never win against Madam Pomfrey. The nurse pushed past the men, and helped tuck the sheets around Hermione.
"I don't care what terrible things she has done," Madam Pomfrey scolded the men, "she's still a patient at my hospital and won't be treated that way!"
"Wait!" Hermione asked wildly. "What did I do?"
Dumbledore gave her a stare that Hermione had never experienced; a stare of blatant accusation. "That's what we should be asking you," he said. "Or, more appropriately, asking 'why?'."
"Oh, no," Madam Pomfrey interjected. "She's still a patient. No questions until after she's recovered."
"Recovered from what?" Hermione said, almost yelling in her impatience.
"Calm down, Hermione," Madam Pomfrey ordered. "See," she said to Dumbledore, "she doesn't even know what happened."
"I think she does," Dumbledore said. "She's been acting strangely all year." he shook his head dejectedly and sighed to himself. "I should have seen this coming."
"All year?" Hermione said, her jaw wide with bewilderment. "Professor Dumbledore, the year has just begun!"
Madam Pomfrey and Dumbledore looked at each other, then at Hermione, startled. Madam Pomfrey pulled up a chair, and sat down at Hermione's side. Dumbledore took a step closer. The men, who had retreated from the foot of the bed to the opposite wall, turned their heads to hear better.
"What are you talking about, Hermione?" Madam Pomfrey asked gently.
Hermione looked from Madam Pomfrey's face to Dumbledore's. What did they mean what was she talking about? Dumbledore's gaze seemed to pierce into her very soul, making her feel guilty even though she knew she had done nothing wrong.
"It's. it's not the beginning of the first term?" Hermione asked quietly. "Then when is it?"
Dumbledore stared at her, almost in repulsion, and quickly walked over to Madam Pomfrey, helping her out of her chair. He led her away from the bed. "She's lying. I'm afraid you mustn't listen to her." Hermione's mouth dropped, hearing his loud whispers. Madam Pomfrey left, and Dumbledore spoke to the guards.
"Don't let her leave. We'll have a more secure location for her soon. If she gets violent, use whatever means necessary to restrain her. Don't let anyone in."
Dumbledore then turned to Hermione, whose hands had begun to shake as they wiped strands of tear-soaked hair from her cheeks.
"Hermione, I seriously suggest you begin to tell the truth, because an unhappy future awaits you and lies will only make it worse."
Dumbledore walked around the curtain and out of sight. A state of grief that Hermione had never experienced before began to swell inside her, beginning at her throat. She felt like she was choking. Blinded by tears, Hermione rolled to her side and stared towards the window. She curled herself into a ball underneath the covers and cried herself to sleep.
Large raindrops pummeled through the trees and stung the bare skin on Hermione's arms. She searched desperately for Harry, determined to help him. He wouldn't be able to fight alone, especially not with the injuries he had withstood. Hermione saw a splash of blood on a nearby bush before the flowing rains washed it away. He had been there only moments ago. She followed the dissipating trail of red liquid deeper into the thick trees.
Minutes later, Hermione's heart leapt with relief when she saw a shadowy figure running in her direction.
"Harry. Harry!" She waved her arms in the air, so he could see her more clearly. The figure paused, then came over to her. As he emerged from the cloud of rain, Hermione gasped and stepped backward. The large muscles and narrow, evil eyes didn't belong to Harry. The man smirked and pointed a wand at her.
The rain engulfed Hermione, blocking all of her senses. She felt curiously light stepping over a thick, wet branch. She couldn't hear anything at all, except the sound of blood pumping through her head. Hermione walked into a small clearing, nearly tripping over a heap of cloth at her feet. She looked down. A halo of blood surrounded the head of Harry Potter. He was breathing, but just barely.
The rain began to ease, and Hermione could saw the bushes beside her shake furiously. The same shadowy figure was crouched behind the wet branches a few meters away. Hermione saw the wave of his wand, and then a flash of bright green light. She was thrown backwards into the grass, her ears ringing. She turned her head to the left where Harry's pale face was only feet away from her. He had stopped breathing.
Hot tears mixed with the rain and blood on Hermione's face. She tried to reach out to Harry, to close his empty, staring eyes. She couldn't. Lightening flashed and Hermione closed her own eyes, sinking into darkness.
Someone was crying. The sobs woke Hermione from a horrendously long and painful sleep. She opened her eyes slowly, squinting in the bright sunlight. She was in a bed, with a window on her right and a curtain on her left.
Hermione realized that she was in the hospital wing; but why, she didn't know. The crying person was a woman, and Hermione could hear words of comfort being whispered by a sad male voice. There were more than just those two people in the room, though. Hermione heard shifting footsteps and faint murmurs and the blowing of a nose every now and then. It wasn't until she smelled the flowers that she understood what was happening. The room smelled like and had the same oppressive hush as the room where she attended her Aunt Margaret's funeral visitation.
For one crazy moment, Hermione thought that maybe she was dead, but realized that if she was, she probably wouldn't have such a terrible headache.
Madam Pomfrey poked a sad face around the curtain and wordlessly handed Hermione a steaming mug. Hermione winced as she drank the bitter potion.
"How are you feeling?" Madam Pomfrey asked, feeling Hermione's forehead.
"My head hurts," she confessed, "and I'm confused. what's going on?" Madam Pomfrey conjured a cold cloth and placed it over Hermione's eyebrows. As she bent towards her, Hermione saw that Madam Pomfrey was crying.
"Just rest." The nurse's voice was gentler than Hermione had ever heard it. Not that Madam Pomfrey wasn't sympathetic, but she had a presence of firm nurturing.
Before any more questions could be asked, Madam Pomfrey disappeared behind the curtain.
The last thing Hermione wanted to do was rest, the cold cloth did nothing to ease her headache, and her curiosity began to get the best of her. She got out of the bed, her bare feet hesitant to touch the cold stone floor. Without honestly caring what everyone would think of her in pajamas, she stepped around the curtain.
There were at least a dozen people crowded around one of the beds. Dumbledore, Madam Pomfrey, Ron, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were just a few of them. Before Hermione could find out what was going on, Ron saw her standing there and walked over to her. Hermione's breath caught in her throat. Ron was crying. She had never seen him cry before, not even when he had broken his leg during their third year.
Ron stood in front of her, trying to say something, but unable to make any audible sound. His chin shook as a large tear made its way down his cheek. Hermione felt herself begin to cry, just seeing Ron so upset. Not really knowing what to do, she placed a hand on his shoulder. Ron pursed his lips, and shook his head slowly.
"Oh, Hermione!" he sobbed, and pulled her into a hug. She felt hot tears trickle onto her neck and she became extraordinarily uncomfortable. Not only had Ron never cried like this, but he'd also never hugged her like this.
"Ron, what's wrong?" Hermione said, wiggling out of his embrace. He looked at her oddly through his bloodshot eyes as if it were blatantly obvious what was wrong and she was asking an unreasonable question.
"Hermione, go back to your bed." Madam Pomfrey's hand appeared on her shoulder. Everyone surrounding the bed suddenly noticed that Hermione was there. Ignoring everybody's strange stares, she looked past them, at the bed surrounded with flowers. A tuft of untidy hair poked out of the sheets.
Madam Pomfrey began to shoo Hermione back to her bed.
"Wait! Who is that?" Hermione said, pointing hysterically. "It's not. it's not." Madam Pomfrey led her away. Hermione couldn't say it. It couldn't be Harry.
"NO!" Hermione wrenched herself from Madam Pomfrey's grasp and ran over to the bed. The people parted like the Red Sea as she approached.
It was Harry. His pale hands folded on his chest, which lacked the rising and falling of life. His scar stood out vividly on his ghostly white face. Hermione was sobbing silently, and reached out to trace his scar with a shaking finger.
"Keep her away!" someone shouted. A flurry of hands grabbed her and began to pull her back.
"Wait! Stop!" she cried. "I just want to say goodbye!". The more she struggled, the harder the hands gripped her arms. She caught a quick glimpse of the two men holding her. One looked mousy and a bit withered with age, but his strong grip contradicted his looks. The other was built like a gorilla and could have easily held Hermione's arms on his own. Neither of them were familiar to her.
She soon found herself back in her bed, crying hysterically. What was going on?
Harry's still chest had etched itself into her memory, and she was unable to forget the image of his lifeless body lying in that bed. Her head pounded painfully and her eyes burned with tears. Every breath was a sob as she tried to think rationally, but her thoughts began to melt together incomprehensively.
All she wanted to do was to be with the people on the other side of the curtain. She wanted Mrs. Weasley to wrap her in a tight hug, and to listen to Dumbledore's soothing advice. She wished she could return Ron's embrace, and touch Harry's white face.
But she couldn't go back. The two men stood at the foot of her bed with their backs to her, guarding. Hermione shook her head in disgust, realizing that they weren't guarding her for her safety. They were making sure she didn't go anywhere.
She couldn't figure out what she might have done to deserve this. Hermione laid back, closed her eyes, and tried to recall what had happened that made her go to the hospital wing.
As she wiped away hot tears, Hermione racked her brain, attempting to remember with all her might, but it was like something out of a dream from many years ago. She recollected the summer after her fourth year, going to Vicktor Krum's mansion and meeting his family. She remembered returning home, and then buying supplies for her fifth year. She vaguely remembered getting on the Hogwarts Express, and recalled that it had made an unexpected stop, and that was it.
Something had happened.. Somehow, Harry had died.
After a few minutes, anger began to swell up inside of Hermione. The men weren't leaving, and she could hear Dumbledore's voice close by. How could everyone just let her be treated like that? Why didn't someone help her?
She swung her legs out of her bed and stood up. One of the two men turned around, brandishing his wand at Hermione. Hermione ignored him, and began to walk around him.
He stepped sideways, blocking her way. He pointed his wand into her face.
"Get back into bed." He said calmly. The other man turned and pulled out his wand. Hermione just blankly stared at them. She tried to push her way past him, but he grabbed her harshly and wouldn't let her get by.
"Ow! Stop it!" she said, pushing his hand off of her arm. Her painful yell must have carried over the curtain, because the voices behind it became silent.
"Help me!" she cried, knowing that everyone would hear her. If she couldn't go to them, she would make them come to her. The man tried to push her back into bed, but she wasn't going to be pushed like that anymore. She slapped his hand away from her, and tried to run around him again. To her dismay, nobody was coming around the curtain. The man was obviously fed up with her. He pinned her arms to her side painfully and picked her up. She kicked wildly at the man's groin, but unfortunately didn't make contact.
"Put her down," she heard someone say softly. Over the man's shoulder, Hermione saw Dumbledore's white hair. She was lowered to the ground, and the man stepped back. Hermione looked at Dumbledore and gave him a look of gratitude, but was taken back at what she saw in his expression. His eyes were absent of familiarity; the twinkle was gone. Instead, the deepest of sorrow seemed to be etched into his brow, and his eyes were very red. It seemed like his soul had broken in two.
"What's going on?" Madam Pomfrey appeared beside Dumbledore. "Hermione, back in bed!" Hermione climbed in almost automatically, knowing that she could never win against Madam Pomfrey. The nurse pushed past the men, and helped tuck the sheets around Hermione.
"I don't care what terrible things she has done," Madam Pomfrey scolded the men, "she's still a patient at my hospital and won't be treated that way!"
"Wait!" Hermione asked wildly. "What did I do?"
Dumbledore gave her a stare that Hermione had never experienced; a stare of blatant accusation. "That's what we should be asking you," he said. "Or, more appropriately, asking 'why?'."
"Oh, no," Madam Pomfrey interjected. "She's still a patient. No questions until after she's recovered."
"Recovered from what?" Hermione said, almost yelling in her impatience.
"Calm down, Hermione," Madam Pomfrey ordered. "See," she said to Dumbledore, "she doesn't even know what happened."
"I think she does," Dumbledore said. "She's been acting strangely all year." he shook his head dejectedly and sighed to himself. "I should have seen this coming."
"All year?" Hermione said, her jaw wide with bewilderment. "Professor Dumbledore, the year has just begun!"
Madam Pomfrey and Dumbledore looked at each other, then at Hermione, startled. Madam Pomfrey pulled up a chair, and sat down at Hermione's side. Dumbledore took a step closer. The men, who had retreated from the foot of the bed to the opposite wall, turned their heads to hear better.
"What are you talking about, Hermione?" Madam Pomfrey asked gently.
Hermione looked from Madam Pomfrey's face to Dumbledore's. What did they mean what was she talking about? Dumbledore's gaze seemed to pierce into her very soul, making her feel guilty even though she knew she had done nothing wrong.
"It's. it's not the beginning of the first term?" Hermione asked quietly. "Then when is it?"
Dumbledore stared at her, almost in repulsion, and quickly walked over to Madam Pomfrey, helping her out of her chair. He led her away from the bed. "She's lying. I'm afraid you mustn't listen to her." Hermione's mouth dropped, hearing his loud whispers. Madam Pomfrey left, and Dumbledore spoke to the guards.
"Don't let her leave. We'll have a more secure location for her soon. If she gets violent, use whatever means necessary to restrain her. Don't let anyone in."
Dumbledore then turned to Hermione, whose hands had begun to shake as they wiped strands of tear-soaked hair from her cheeks.
"Hermione, I seriously suggest you begin to tell the truth, because an unhappy future awaits you and lies will only make it worse."
Dumbledore walked around the curtain and out of sight. A state of grief that Hermione had never experienced before began to swell inside her, beginning at her throat. She felt like she was choking. Blinded by tears, Hermione rolled to her side and stared towards the window. She curled herself into a ball underneath the covers and cried herself to sleep.