The Return
What can I say? Where should I start? The beginning...Maybe I should start where this all began....But, in essence, where did it begin?
I don't know why I'm writing this, but, well, it might prove useful to the history books one day, if someone keeps a close record. That is, if I'm alive to even see someone to give this to...oh, well. If I end up dead and rotting somewhere in a valley, hopefully someone will find this roll of parchment. If not, well, it makes a good outlet for bottled feelings at this date and time.
Time? What is time? I have lost all sense of time and date, all thoughts for the future, what is now is now, and I must prepare for the task of living through tomorrow. Time is nothing to me now.
Well, on with the documentary. My name is Hermione Felicity Granger, I am seventeen years old, and was currently in my seventh year at Hogwarts, until Hogwarts was...otherwise unable to teach anymore. It is now Voldemort's sanctuary.
I do not fear that name anymore. It is now a name that represents fear, anger and destruction all at once. It's sound has torn apart families, spilt innocent people's blood, wizard or not, tore apart the fabric of life as I knew it as recently as a year ago. It is a synonym for evil at it's essence, the core of it. It commands a wary respect, but no fear from me anymore.
Where to begin? Well, I'm sure I don't need to write down the legacy of who was Tom Marvolo Riddle, or Harry Potter. You know the story of the orphaned boy who grew to hate muggles and muggle-born wizards (also referred to as Mudbloods, as Malfoy would be so persistent to remind me) and became the most powerful Dark wizard of all time. You also know the story of the other orphaned boy who grew up with his cousins, and is (was?) one of my best friends I ever, and ever shall have. You know of how he had foiled all of Voldemort's plots six times: one for every year he had know he was a wizard. But the seventh time...he failed, as far as I know.
I was entering the Headmaster's (then Dumbledore) turret. I had gotten the owl that had notified me that I was Head Girl. Naturally, I was thrilled. It seems so frivolous to me now, but, then again, all of the pleasures of my life then seem frivolous to me now. Well, Dumbledore smiled his normal friendly smile, and spoke.
"I am very proud of you Miss Granger," he said, eyes twinkling. "These are your Head Girl robes. Somehow, when I saw you get 120 percent average on all of your exam scores the first year, I knew that one day, I would have the honor of giving you this title." I almost swelled with pride when I took the bundle from Dumbledore.
"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore, sir," I replied. "It is a great honor to hear that come from your mouth, in person." I don't normally speak like that, but when I want to be eloquent, I can be eloquent with a vengeance. Professor Dumbledore smiled again.
"Well, then, go on. I've got some paperwork to attend to, if you don't mind." I assured him that I didn't, and I left the room at a hurry, eager to try on my new robes.
Practically sprinting down the glossy marble halls, I tore into the nearest bathroom, which also happened to be Moaning Myrtle's room. She was in her stall, blubbering pitifully as usual, but I paid her no heed, and she the same. Siding into the farthest stall from the morose ghost, I ripped off my plain black gown with the prefect pin on it, and slid on the Head Girl robes. They were made of a nicer material than my old robes, and the sleeves were a bit drapier, they looked like teacher's robes. They were also maroon, for my house color, and the pin signifying my rank said 'HG' for Head Girl, in fancy script, studded in golden rhinestones that glittered when I walked. I was never so proud.
I strutted out of the bathroom, and ran into the person that I was least intent on seeing at the moment: Draco Malfoy. He was wearing long, dark emerald robes in the style of mine, that contrasted starkly against his otherwise pale complexion. But what struck icy fear in my heart was the fact that on the left side of his chest, there was a pin, studded in diamond-colored rhinestones (In fact, they probably were real diamonds) that said 'HB'. Head Boy. I was stunned.
"Well, well. Congratulations, Granger. I see that the Mudblood has finally made something of herself. Such a shocker." My pride bristled immediately.
"Shut up, Malfoy. At least I earned my pin. I didn't buy my way up." Draco's eyes flickered in the dim candlelight, and he raised his blonde eyebrows in interest.
"And how would you know, Granger? How would you know if I bought my way up? For all you know, I may have earned it." I rolled my eyes in the back of my head. How dense did he think I was?
"Because you never earn anything, Malfoy. You buy your grades, you buy your spot on the Quidditch team, and you've bought your Head Boy pin. I know you too well." Malfoy's eyes dropped their normal hard, icy look. They looked...almost hurt, like I had struck him. But a second later, they regained their frosty, forbidden look, and he heaved his chest out.
"You don't know me, Granger," the voice was not the harsh snap, or the snobby drawl that I was accustomed to. "You think you do, but you don't." I was at a loss for words. I, Hermione Granger, possessor of the largest vocabulary on the planet, was actually at a loss for words. Stunning, isn't it? Malfoy's eyes glittered, and he left down the corridor at a brisk pace.
Looking over my writing, I notice I regard eyes a lot. I think the best part of any person's body is their eyes. Most people care for legs, or chests, or other things, but for me, the taker is the eyes. That's because when you look at a persons eyes, they show emotion. Legs don't do that. You can't look at a person's leg and see if they are angry, sad, happy, or surprised. Well, on with the story.
My good mood partially dampened, I retreated back to the Gryffindor common room, where I could have a nice chat with Harry or Ron, or curl up in a soft, overstuffed chair with a juicy novel to pass the time. Walking up to the Fat Lady's portrait, I hissed the password at her, and she let me in with an approving smile. When I walked into the common room, dead silence reigned, and I was quite startled for a moment. That is, until Harry stood up with this big, warm smile on his face, and started to clap loudly. Ron followed in suit, followed by the entire room. I was flattered, and could feel my cheeks going a bright pink in the process. When the clapping had died down, Harry motioned me over to an empty chair by the fire, which I accepted. Ron prodded my shoulder playfully.
"So, I see that the smartest female in the history of Hogwarts has finally gotten her dues, eh?" I rolled my eyes in the back of my head.
"Like you can talk, Mr. Gryffindor head prefect." Ron's cheeks went nearly as red as his his hair as his fiddled with his pin that had 'HGP' on it, for Head Gryffindor Prefect. I knew that he was immensely proud of the fact, since no Weasley had been a head prefect in a while. Harry pushed his glasses up his nose and smiled.
"I had the chance to be the captain of the Gryffindor team," he said abruptly. Ron's eyes shot away from his badge, and I looked up.
"Really?" asked Ron, breathless. "Did you accept?" Harry grinned again, showing clean white teeth.
"No," was the simple reply. Ron's jaw dropped, and my arms flomped to the sides in shock. Who would want to refuse that honor?
"May I ask why not?" asked Ron, looking like he had just been crushed. Harry laughed and shook his head.
"I'm already 'Famous Harry Potter', and that's all the title I want." I couldn't help but grin. Harry Potter, famous as ever, modest as ever. Pardon the fact if the paper is a little tear-stained and blotchy. It's hard to remember good times like that was, when now...well, I guess I can't get into the depressing part of the story yet. I haven't even gotten to the 'good' part yet.
We went on with the idle chitchat like that, until around ten-thirty. Then I announced that I was tired and was going to retire. The boys nodded and bid me goodnight, and I sleepily climbed the stairs. To my relief, the bedroom was deserted, and for a few minutes, I had privacy. Forgetting all modesty, I ripped off my Head Girl Robes, and tore into my nightgown.
"Hey, Miss Head Girl." I looked up from folding up my robes to find Lavender Brown. I grinned back at her. I don't understand why, but most people just assume I'm enemies with her for some reason. She's not exactly a good friend, she's rather ditzy, but she's not mean to me either. I swatted at her, and grinned.
"Well, then, Miss Chaser." Yes. Believe it or not, Lavender Brown made the Quidditch team. She's pretty decent at it, actually. She smiled back.
"I'm going down to the foyer. Wanna come?" There is a small parlor space in the foyer of the school, and people from all houses go there to swap stories and gossip. It basically was the social core of Hogwarts. But at that moment, I didn't want to go down and torture my ears with incessant babble about who was going out with whom. I just wanted to think. So, I shook my head.
"No, you go on ahead. I've got a headache. Have fun." Lavender shook her head.
"Suit yourself." She walked out the door. I flopped on my bed, and the mattress enveloped me like a cocoon. I sat there and rested for a few minutes, until I heard a rapping on the window. Unhappily rousing myself, I squinted out into the blackness that seemed to push up against the window, without any stars to pin it back where it belonged. Well, after peering out the window for a few seconds, I saw a small owl with a big bundle, frantically trying to land. I hurriedly opened the door and brought it inside. After the owl let the bundle go, a small letter and a wrapped package fell onto Patil's bed. Looking at the letter, I saw it was addressed to me. Seeing the owl for the first time, I recognized the golden owl that my parents had bought last summer, named ShimmerClaw. ShimmerClaw screeched a greeting at me, and landed on my headboard, waiting. I opened the letter. In my mother's loopy script, it read:
Dearest Hermione,
How are you, sweetie? Your father and I miss you already, and you haven't even been gone for two weeks!
(Isn't that just like a mother?) Well, I sure haven't gotten used to the wizarding owl transit system yet, and I don't think I ever shall, since this dratted owl of ours won't stay still long enough for me to give it the bloody letter! Anyway, enough about me. Since your father and I were out of town for your summertime birthday, we decided to get you your present now. Remember to brush and floss every day, and don't eat too much sugar. (That's what it's like, having two dentists for parents.) Please write back soon, dear.Love,
Mum and Dad
My attention turned to the brown paper parcel in front of me. Dropping the letter, I savaged the paper until it was fully shredded and I could see its contents. Quite predictably, they were books, but I was thrilled. Advanced Transfigurations: Animangi I had always wanted to try to become an Animangi, and it would be inresting to read about it. The Scarlet Letter. That's been my favorite book for some time now, but I needed a new copy. And finally: Pride and Prejudice. Well, I had never read that before. Deciding that the perfect time to start would be tonight, I hurriedly dug out a squashed quill from my pocket, and borrowed a half-empty bottle of cornflower-blue ink that was sitting, unused, on Patil's desk. Shaking up the ink, I wet the tip of the quill and scribbled out a quick note:
Dear Mum and Dad,
Thanks ever so much for the books; I needed some new ones. I miss you too. But, it's not too much longer to winter break, but I'm healthy, and enjoying myself here thoroughly. Please don't worry or fret about me, I'm fine, and I can take care of myself, or so I like to think. No, I haven't been eating that many sweets, and yes, I love you too.
Love always,
Hermione
With that, I sealed the letter and gave it back to ShimmerClaw, who nipped up the bit of paper with great dignity and soared out the window. For a couple of moments, I watched the black silhouette of the bird dip and dive gracefully through the nighttime sky. When she had flitted out of sight, I picked up my new books and walked to my bed. Closing the curtains for privacy, and telling people I did not want to be bothered, I took out my wand.
"Lumos," I muttered to it while waving it around. The inside of my little tent glowed with the light from the tip of the wand. I read for about, maybe an hour, or until my eyes got so sore and tired of the words, that they refused to focus. Rubbing at my swollen eyes, I put the books on a neat pile on the floor by my bed, planning to put them away in the morning.
"Nox," I yawned at my wand. The light extinguished, and I put the wand on the floor by my new books. Sliding under my soft, warm covers, I fell into an innocent sleep, not knowing what awaited me about two or three hours later.
# # #
I was interrupted from my writing so I could sleep for the night, and tend to matters today. Now that it is night again, I can write more about the ambush that Voldemort had in store for us that fateful night.
Well, I was sleeping, when I heard the giant 'BOOM' downstairs. I was quite frightened, and I leapt out of bed, kicking my wand somewhere over on the other side of the room. In the dark, I stood there like a git, trying to find out if I had just dreamed the noise. But I had not. Other girls in my room were groggily sitting up in their beds, looking mussed and rumpled as they looked about stupidly. Not willing to listen to their babble, I shoved on a bathrobe and scuttled downstairs, where I was met with a bunch of confused people, which was slowly starting to turn into a confused mob. Most of them were like me, bedraggled and in their bedclothes, but some of them had pulled on robes, looking startled. I headed for the portrait hole.
"I'm going to see what's the matter," I said, pouring what authority into my voice that I could have at four in the morning. "I'd better not hear of anybody leaving. Harry, you're in charge. Ron, as Head Prefect, I need you to come with me." Ron and Harry nodded curtly, and as Harry tended to the frantic younger kids, Ron came with me through the portrait hole.
"I wonder what happened?" Ron asked, picking up his stride. Ron has such god-cursed long, spindly legs that every step he took, I seemed to have to take three. Pretty soon I had to practically trot to keep up with him.
"I have no freaking idea. But it had better be good." Needless to say, I am not a morning person. Ron just grinned an irritating smile and we walked at a brisk pace to the Great Hall. Well, If I remember correctly, the quickest way to get from our dorms to the Great Hall was through the Transfigurations corridor. We were halfway down the hallway, when I noticed a faint green glow down a turn to the left where we were standing. It was rapidly getting closer, and I pointed this out to Ron. We both ducked behind a suit of armor, and waited.
"D'you think that this will actually work, my lord?" Came a slightly drawling, familiar voice. One that was scratchy, greasy, nasal, oily, and nasty all at once answered it.
"Come now Lucius, you have no faith in me or my plans. Everything has been planned and under control at the moment. Have some faith, why don't you?" The greenish glow came into our corridor, nearly blinding us. When it did, it was an eerie sight to behold.
A figure walked down the hallway, shoes echoing against the tile, coming to bounce off the silent walls of the deserted corridor. He was talking to what seemed to be a ball of green fire, nearly as tall as the figure itself. Ron leaned towards my ear.
"Hey, that's Malfoy's dad, isn't it?" he whispered, so quietly that I could barely hear it. I nodded stupidly, my eyes never leaving the green fireball. I don't remember exactly what was going on in my brain at that moment, but I think I was wondering what part Malfoy, Draco Malfoy was playing in this, if his father was casually talking to this ball of green fire, who seemed to be the ringleader of this plan. Suddenly, the suit of armor that we were hiding behind fell with a crash. Lucius Malfoy and the ball of fire turned to look at us. There was dead silence, as we regarded each other for a moment. Then Ron yelled.
"You're....You-Know-Who!" Lucius Malfoy grinned a sadistic grin, and scuffed his foot against the floor, raising his wand.
"And you're one of the Weasley children. So nice to have you along. I assume that you heard the commotion downstairs?" I was so terrified at the moment that I didn't feel scared any more. My eyes were on the spirit of Voldemort, not on the speaker.
"And," Mr. Malfoy continued, "I am so sorry to report that your dear Professor Dumbledore has passed away, as recent as maybe..." He looked at his watch, smiling even more coldly, if that was possible, "....a half-hour ago." My legs turned to stone, and Ron's jaw dropped in stupefied disbelief. Voldemort's essence turned to us. Even though he had no face, I could tell that he must have been wearing a sarcastic grin, dripping with fake sympathy.
"Yes, my dear children, I am so sorry..." he ended up in an eruption of maniac laughter that burnt me to the bone as well as chilled my soul. I noticed that as Voldemort spoke, he was getting brighter, and Lucius Malfoy raised his wand, in position to curse something, namely us. Ron gripped my arm with a cold, sweat soaked palm.
"RUN!!" he cried, and we did so. Lucius's curse, and Voldemort's...well, whatever Voldemort's attack was planning to be missed us by a rat's whisker. It totally blew up an entire section of the wall. But I didn't take the time to gawk. Ron and I were sprinting down the halls, the slap of out bare feet against the floor seeming to be louder than the explosion had been. I could hear Voldemort's high-pitched laughing echoing down the chambers in which we ran. I hated it. I tried to cover my ears, but the sound was still echoing in my brain. I still hear it, mostly in my darkest nightmares.
We vaulted at the picture of the Fat Lady, only to find that she was so scared that she had fled the painting. I banged at the portrait, and I could hear screams from within, as well as Harry's voice, trying to calm everybody down. Ron lost his temper.
"To hell with this." He took out his wand and pointed it at the picture. "Alecrishtman!" I knew that spell by heart about three years ago, and I was not surprised at the results. A gigantic explosion that was much too loud and the painting was blown into little shreds.
We ripped the rest of the portrait off the walls, and leapt through the hole, to come face to face with Harry Potter in a battle stance, and he shouted a spell.
"Qwety Elsonnat!" Ron and I dove to the side, just in time to avoid a yellow fireball hurtling at us. It caught the shards of canvas that had shattered on the floor, as well as the rug, and it burst into flames. Harry raised his wand to try again, when I yelled at him.
"Harry, you brainless git! It's us, Hermione and Ron!" I don't know what possessed him to try again, maybe he thought we were sentries from Voldemort shape-shifted to look like us, or something like that. But my yelling was enough to get him to stop. Ignoring the fire that was starting behind us, he stared.
"What happened?" Looking down at myself, I found a large, bloody gash down my left thigh. Ron had a vicious slash on his forehead. We must have been struck by debris from the blown-apart wall. I guessed it was too dark in the hallways, and I was too scared to know I had been wounded. I still had too much adrenaline to feel any pain. I didn't care at the moment.
"Harry, It's Voldemort." Several people gasped at my use of Voldemort's blatant name, but I didn't care. Harry looked a bit surprised to hear me say his name, but allowed me to continue. "He's gotten three times more powerful than before, and, and...Oh, oh, Harry, Dumbledore is dead." I whimpered out the last sentence, and I could see Harry's - as well as the rest of the room's - eye's widen with shock, and then fill with tears. He swallowed several times before speaking.
"I see." He looked around the room. "I've beaten Voldemort before, I can do it again, right?" I gripped his arm, and Ron blocked the portrait hole. I wasn't going to let him go this time. Not after what I had seen Lucius Malfoy and Voldemort do to that wall in the Transfiguration hallway.
"Harry," said Ron in his sedate voice, "You can't. You-Know-Who blew apart an entire wall with just one curse. There's no way you can beat him alone. Please, Harry. Have some common sense," he begged. I didn't say anything. There was nothing more to say. I just looked at him pleadingly, and hoped he got the hint. Harry sighed.
"Well, what do you suppose we do then?" he looked around. "Hey. Where's McGonagall? For that matter, where are all the teachers? Surely, they would be here at a crisis like this." I looked around. He was right. Where were the teachers, anyway?
We didn't have much time to ponder this, though, as another explosion, similar to the one that had woken us all up, but worse. It shook the very foundation of the school, and flaming bits of canvas were thrown everywhere, as well as a deal of rocks were shaken out of the walls. People started screaming as chairs started bursting into flaming bonfires.
I grabbed Ron's wand out of his hands, thanking whatever guardian angel was bestowing upon me when Flitwik taught me all those extra-complicated charms.
"Gandun Phlisphiote!" I screamed. A swell of seawater came out of the end of the wand, dowsing everything. Before anyone could say anything, there was another explosion, this one even larger than the last, and parts of the wall began to crumble. The entire room went into chaos. People were screaming, crying, and otherwise going hysterical. Taking the lead from what I had seen teachers do, I shot sparks in the air until everybody had calmed down. It was time to test my leadership skills. What a way to start off being Head Girl.
"All right, everybody, listen up!" I bellowed. "I want all of the second through seventh years over here fixing up the walls so they don't collapse on us. Then, I want everybody to evacuate this school building!" I cried, sounding much more confident in myself then I felt. "Everybody move!" Everybody, - save the first years, as it was only the first day of school and they didn't even know how to wield a wand properly yet - started to do strengthening spells, to keep the roof over our heads. I was talking a group of confused third-years through it, when I heard Harry call out to me.
"Hermione! The walls are going to cave in no matter what we do! We need to get out of here, and fast!" It was hard to argue with someone that speaks like that, so I raised my voice again, which was starting to get hoarse with all the yelling that I had done recently.
"Everybody, drop what you're doing, and get out!" There was a mad rush to the portrait hole, and Ron had to regulate that everybody got out one at a time, so nobody got stuck. I was the last one out. After climbing out, I came face to face with Harry again. In the dark, he looked almost ethical, strong, and proud.
"Listen. Get all the first years out of here. Me'n everyone else are staying." I couldn't believe my ears. But I knew that if Famous Harry Potter makes his mind up, It's hard to convince him otherwise. So I swallowed my fear and pride, and I nodded. I stepped in front of the crowd of Gryffindors, and I knocked a statue over, so I could use its base as a pedestal. When I climbed on top of it, everybody instantly shut up. I cleared my throat.
"How many of you have ever heard of the Alamo?" I could tell that I had stunned people by asking about this, as it seemed totally unrelated. Ron looked at me, one eyebrow raised. I sighed and got down.
"It was a battle in America, a long time ago, okay?" I said, not really wanting to delve into the subject. I jumped off the statue's pedestal and grabbed Ron's wand. I drew a shimmering golden line on the tile in front of me. It seemed to glow in the darkness. I went on with my explanation of the battle at the Alamo.
"The general, whom I believe was Col. Travis, drew a line in the sand with his sword, before they went to protect the Alamo. They could either stay and fight, or step across that line and slip into the night, unharmed." There was dead silence besides my voice in the hallway. It seemed as if time had stopped as I told my tale.
"Everyone, except the first years, has the same choice that those soldiers had. You may step across this line, and come with me and the first years, or you may stay behind and fight. But before you choose, remember that all the men that did not step across that line in the sand died." I could see a chill sweep through the room as I said that. "There is a possibility that you may die also. Who wants to leave?" Nobody moved. I tried again.
"Are you sure?" I looked down at my fellow seventh years. "I would rather stay and...and fight," I said, voice wavering. In reality, I did not want to fight, and by the nonchalant looks on their faces, they didn't either. "Do any of you want to take the first years out instead?" Still, nobody moved. Not even Neville. I swallowed.
"Very well. I wish you Godspeed." I dropped my formal tempo and yelled out again. "First years, follow me!" Nine boys and eleven girls trotted up to me. I looked them over. The first year's class was very small this year, I knew that that was true. I sighed.
"Follow me." I whirled around, and the first years followed me.
That was the last time I ever saw Ron, or Harry, or Seamus, or Lavender, or any other of the Gryffindors. I don't know what happened, or if they are even still alive. It has been almost a week, I think, since I have seen Hogwarts at all. I guess all I can do is hope and pray.
Well, I led the first years out the twistiest, most hidden passage I could find. I must credit them: they were very good about being silent, and followed my orders without questioning them. I didn't see Voldemort or Lucius Malfoy, but I didn't see any teachers either. I did meet up with a group of first year Hufflepuffs, without a prefect with them. They seemed lost and scared out of their wits. It turned out that their Head Prefect, Ernie McMillian, told them directions to get out of the school, but had stayed behind to fight. I told them they could come with us.
My party now greatly enlarged, I finally led them out of the school. Despite it being the end of summer, the air seemed cold, and frigid somehow. I could tell that I was not the only one, as others pulled their bathrobes closer to their bodies in attempts to get warm. Wishing I had a light, I started to walk away from the school, wondering where to go. I was rudely interrupted from my thoughts, when I saw a flash of crimson light behind me. I whirled around, and saw that two of the turrets were engulfed in flames. It was like a train wreck. To horrible to watch, but too much drama involved to look away. Suddenly, there was a triumphant war cry, and something flaming shot towards me. I stepped back, and an arrow that had been lit on fire started scorching the grasses. Looking up, I saw a figure, aiming another arrow at me.
"RUN!!" I cried to the first years, and we all started running, to God knew where. We ended up in the Forbidden Forest. Where else was there to go? The nearest wizarding town was Hogsmeade, which was too chancy to try to get to, and what were we going to say to a bunch of muggles, dressed in our nightclothes?
So, I was in the middle of the Forbidden Forest, with Voldemort at the only haven around, stuck with about forty sniffling, sobbing children, at night, with a full moon to boot. Some luck I was having at the time, wasn't it?
After plodding through an area thick with brambles, cutting our feet to fleshy strands, I decided that we needed some light. "Does anyone have a wand with them?" Everybody shook his or her heads. Thinking of my wand that I left stupidly in my room, I cursed. "Well, does anybody have anything that can produce light?" I must have sounded like a monster, and I must agree, I felt like one at the moment. A little Hufflepuff first year, named Eric Winegarden had a cigarette lighter. Not really wanting to know what he had it for, I clicked it until it produced a feeble flame. It didn't help much.
"All right. We need some light. I want a stick. A nice, tall one. Are there any in the area?" Shirley Modus, a Gryffindor, handed me one. Undoing the rope around my bathrobe waist, I tied the terrycloth to the stick in a large knot, and lit the terrycloth with the lighter. It made a nice torch. Beaming over my cleverness, I led the first years on through the darkness.
You know, when you've made the best of an awful situation, it always seems that something turns up to make what made life tolerable at the moment, disappear. In this case it was the torch. My rotten luck, it started to rain. The downpour made short work of my makeshift torch. Cursing, I tried to relight it, but the cloth was too wet and charred already to relight.
Flinging it down on the ground, I had to use what little restraint I had at the moment to keep from wailing like a little baby. I remembered the letter I had given my Mum only...had it only been about five hours before? Telling her that I could take care of myself. Where was all the confidence in my abilities now? Here was Hermione Granger, big girl, and all I wanted was my mother to take me in her arms and tell me that it would all be okay. Although I knew that my mother couldn't do that, I had too much pride, and nobody, not even my mother could tell me that it would all be okay. It probably wouldn't be.
That was when I saw the purple glow in the distance. I didn't know whether to run or to take chances. Squinting at it, I noticed that it did look like a fire, the way it flickered. You could bewitch fires to make sure that they didn't go out in the rain...Maybe it was a house.
Looking back, I noticed for the first time that the Slytherins and the Ravenclaws were not in my group. Maybe it was one of them. I didn't care. I was desperate enough to go groveling to Malfoy for a dry place to sleep. And, well, if I had to, so mote it be, the saying said.
"Come on," I told the frightened, soaking wet first years. "Follow me. I think that that's a fire." We trudged through the mud and slop with bloodied feet until we came to a small clearing. We stepped into it, and saw a cave. The purple glow was coming from there. I walked in, with a slight reluctant jerk in my step. The first years crept along behind me. Turning around a corner, I saw who was unmistakably Draco Malfoy and the first year Slytherins. All of the Slytherins were asleep on the ground, snoring faintly. Draco just stared at me. Finally, he broke the silence.
"What do you want?" he sneered at me. I sighed, and had to bite my lip until I could taste the coppery tang of blood in my mouth to keep from snapping. I remember praying to God, or whoever was listening at the moment, to please soften Draco's heart so I could talk him into letting me and my charges stay.
"Please, Draco." He looked shocked that I was using his first name, and I continued. "Please let me and these other children stay. It's raining like hell outside, and we need a place to stay the night. Please. I'm begging you." He looked thoroughly amused at this point. I had to bite back all feelings to slap that smug look off of his face.
"Very well, Granger. Make yourself at home." The Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors looked at me, waiting for my say so. I sighed.
"Go on." They huddled around at the far end of the cave, and soon fell asleep. Draco threw another log on the roaring purple fire. I must admit, I was awed. Out of all the fire casting spells that I had done, I had seen blue, green, yellow, red, and even white, but not purple. Also looking at him - he was in boxers - he seemed to have no wand on him.
"How do you do that?" I asked him. He looked up. "The fire I mean," I went on, "how did you get it purple?" He gave a sneer, but it looked more like a sad smile than anything. "You don't have a wand," I helpfully pointed out for him. He sighed.
"You don't need a wand to do Dark magic, Granger. This is just a Dark magic spell. You mean that the perfect Hermione Granger can't do some type of spell? I'm shocked." He sat back in his spot. If he was shocked, I was that much more so. I knew something of Lucius Malfoy being able to do Dark Magics, but I didn't know that Draco could do them.
"You - you mean that you know how to use the Dark Arts?" I asked, sounding more awed and flabbergasted than I meant to. He gave a soft snort. In the light, his eyes seemed a sad silvery-purple. It looked like he was dragging up memories, and none of them were fond ones.
"Yes. And I'm pretty darn good at them too, if I do say so myself," he said. I noticed that he was obviously trying to sound proud of it, but it was failing. Miserably. He sat forward to poke at the fire again. That was when I saw his back. It was crisscrossed with what looked like welts. I leaned forward to get a closer look, but he whirled around. Not before, though, I got a glimpse of what the marks were. They were scars. He knew, he knew what I was looking at and what I had seen. He put a hand to his back while regarding me seriously with eyes the color of, and hard as granite. He swallowed audibly, and I spoke.
"Where'd you get those from?" I asked, trying to sound sensible, calm, and soothing, but it came out more as a horrified squeak. I didn't know if he was going to answer, because he averted his eyes back to the purple fire, and blinked. Finally, he spoke.
"None of your business, Mudblood," he said fiercely. I shrank back, but I noticed that when he went back to listlessly poking the fire, his eyes suddenly seemed overbright. That was a go-getter sign to me to keep on pressing. I can be very persuasive when I want to be I'll flatter myself by saying.
"About a thousand scars on your back doesn't look like nothing," I said innocently. I noticed his cringe, and I went on pressuring him. "You look like you were whipped." He shot his eyes towards the exit in the cave. It appeared that he would rather face the rain and the monsters outside than what he was facing in here. "Now," I went on calmly, "where did you get those scars at?" He winced, and then threw his wooden poker into the fire. He looked at me through those steely, cold, forbidding, eyes of his, and answered.
"My father," he said simply, as if he had just told me that he had gotten his eye color from his father. I was dumbfounded, and I couldn't think of anything to say. He appeared angry. No, wait, that's wrong. He was furious. "Are you happy now?" he asked, silver fire blazing in his eyes. "Are you happy, Granger? Well? Are you?" My words dried to ash in the back of my throat. I still couldn't think of much to say. Finally, I managed to speak.
"Why?" My body was shaking in spite of myself, because after all I had endured that day, it had all beginning to catch up to me. Running out of Hogwarts, the prospect of all my friends dying at the hands of Voldemort, Dumbledore dying, and then that....It was all too much. It's very painful to think about even now. My rush of feeling invincible and undangered was fading, and fading fast. Draco's bottom lip trembled ever so slightly before he answered.
"Bad temper, I guess. I could always tell when he had had a bad day at work. He would come home, throw his stuff down on the table, and come after me...Sometimes I would try to run away...but it never worked...I don't know why...Oh, dear God..." He had gotten this glazed over look when he had began speaking, like he was watching a film of himself running from his father. As much as I hated Malfoy, he had been nothing but a bastard since the second I met him, my heart wrung pitifully at the sight. I swallowed my suddenly dangerously gummy mouth, and looked over at Draco. Watery gray eyes locked on mine. I don't know why, but suddenly, a sob ripped from my throat, and I buried my face in my knees and wept. The night had been too long and trying, apparently for both of us.
"Why do you put up wi-with it?" I asked through my tears. "You can get a restraining order, or som-something." Draco looked away.
"You don't understand. He's my...My father. Would you put a restraining order on your father?" I had a vision of my chubby, jolly father at that moment, and it made me want to start to cry again. I couldn't imagine doing anything like that to him. But, my father doesn't beat me.
"Does he do that often?" I asked, tears streaming down my face, but not sobbing anymore. He bit his lip and shut his eyes.
"Sort of. Look, can we not talk about this right now?" I could tell that I was obviously paining him by asking these sorts of questions, so I stopped. In the purple glow, I could see a single crystalline tear slide down his cheek, but that was all. "I'm going to bed now. Bye." He turned to the far end of the cave and curled up in a fetal position.
That was when I started to take log of this 'adventure'. By the light of purple fire, and using parchment and ink stolen from a student. I figured that Harriet Camber wasn't going to use it. She hasn't missed it yet, at any rate. Not much has happened since then. I eat and sleep at different intervals, and just concentrate on surviving, basically. We don't know when we should go back to Hogwarts, or if we even dare. I'm afraid that when I go back, all I'll see is a charred heap of bones, and Voldemort laughing gleefully at the drama. Draco's afraid to go back and face his father. Personally, I don't blame him, after the conversation about five sleeps ago. Five sleeps ago. That sounds so primitive it isn't funny. But...I guess I am primitive, in a way, now. Even Hogwarts seems like a distant dream now, not real. What is real is eating and sleeping, and surviving until we get some sort of omen that it's safe to leave our cave. I don't know when that'll be. Perhaps never. Maybe tomorrow. I can only pray. I remember reading stories with happy endings when I was little. I remember being sure that everything had a happy ending, somehow.
I'm not so sure of that anymore.
Author's note: Ugh. Dear me, that was terrible. So many plot holes, everybody was so out of character, and I'm horrible at first person view...I don't really know why I'm posting this. I know I should be working on the second part of my Celeste story, I guess this is just to tell you guys I still have a pulse, and I'm still writing....Even though I don't care for this too much at all. But, if I get enough nice reviews, I *might* consider writing a sequel. That is *might*. Please don't flame. I don't like it that much either, but 'that really sucked' is no way to boost my poor confidence, kay?
~Moxie ^_^
Disclaimer: I don't own anything in this story, really. Just a couple of names and spells. That's all.