Everything's so dark. Why is everything so dark? What happened to the light? My hands probe the darkness. My chest constricts and I feel panick enveloping me. I don't know where I am and the ground underneath me is so cold.

Why is it so cold? I must be in a dungeon, somewhere far below the castle. To my surprise, I feel the temperature decreasing. How is that possible? my mind whispered. Need to get out, is my next thought. Find a way. Escape. Find Parkinson.

I scramble to my feet and sway unsteadily. My vision is temporarily obscured by bright, white lights then my blood settles and I can see again. Too loud. You're too loud. A gut feeling is telling me to be as quiet as possible. Fear is slowly building inside of me.

There is a total absence of sound. The silence is so heavy that it almost feels like it's trying to press me into the ground, into an early grave. My hands are so numb already. Trembling, I draw my wand. You're deaf and blind, Hermione...You don't even know where you are. Why even bother fighting anymore? You remember what the merman said...Draco can't be saved. He just can't...you could sleep forever, you could be at peace...Isn't that what you want?

That thought, so alien to me, suddenly appears in my mind. I push it away and immediately another replaces it. You have the answer right in your hand...all you have to do is point the wand at yourself...and say the magic words. Avada-

"NO!" To my horror, I realize I am staring at the tip of my wand. My hand unclenches from around its handle and it falls to the ground with a clatter. I grip my head in my hands. "Shut. Up. SHUT UP! JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!" But I can't stop it. It's like there's a movie reel inside my mind, playing scenes where Draco's hitting me...and I'm re-living all those months of torture all over again. Old wounds are opening...there's so much blood. I'm sinking deep into my mind, my eyes open and my hands are red and I wonder if this really is hell...the awful truth is seared into my mind. You can't save Parkinson, you can't save Draco, you can't even save yourself...And are you even sure you're not hallucinating?

"I'M NOT! I AM NOT! YOU CAN'T MAKE ME-I KNOW WHAT I'VE BEEN THROUGH! JUST GO AWAY!" Tears run down my face as I slump to the floor, pressing my cheek against the cold, hard cement. "Please..." But it won't stop and I can hear it now. It's mocking me, laughing at me through a veil of red. Its eyes are staring at me, shining with malicious hatred. It brings fire and I should feel warm but I don't...The heat is not warm nor pleasant, it burns. My flesh turns black and flakes of my skin are peeling off and I'm trying to put it back on but it won't stay on. It comes closer and the heat is so unbearable, I'm crying and I understand it all. I understand that there's no point to this life. I understand Draco can't be saved. I understand that everyone in the castle, including Parkinson, will burn tonight and there's nothing that I can do to stop it. This is the worst pain of all. Knowing. I stare into its eyes and I see all the bloodshed and the wars of the past...and suddenly its my hand that's holding a knife that's buried up to its hilt in a child while his mother stares at me with broken eyes. It's my laugh that I'm hearing as I stand in the middle of a field covered with bodies of peasants and kings. It's my hatred, my lust, my thirst for killing. I stare into its eyes and all of its mine. We become one.

Then suddenly the connection is broken. Everything around me shatters into tiny pieces and I'm sucked into a dark tunnel. A great exhaustion seeps through my soul. My eyes close of their own will and my mind is blissfully wiped blank.

I'm awakened to the sound of a cat. I open my eyes and am met with Mrs. Norris' great, luminous orbs. Confusion muddles me but then I break eye contact with Filch's cat and recognize the corridor outside of the Room of Requirement.

Mrs. Norris meows again and I get to my feet and go before Filch arrives. Dealing with the Hogwarts caretaker is the last thing on my to-do list. My breath comes in hitches. The dream is imprinted in my mind and I need to find Parkinson to warn her. I push everything else, the torture and the pain, to the back of my mind. It's not the healthiest thing psychologically but I have no choice.

My ears detect the twittering of birds. I pass a window through which I peer. It's dawn. 6 'o clock. So another day is starting, I think as I stride along. I would run but for fear that the sound of my shoes slapping the marble floor attract Filch.

It takes ten minutes to reach the Gryffindor common room. The Pink Lady is awakes with a start and stares at me with something akin to apprehension in her eyes. She doesn't ask where I've been or what I've been doing.

"Utopia," I say and she opens wide to admit me into the common room.

My four poster looks so inviting. It is difficult to resist from climbing into it and surrendering myself to sleep. I grit my teeth and turn away from it, rifling through my trunk. I try to remain quiet as to not disturb the other girls.

My fingers pass over a little doll. It moves slightly, exposing just the barest shimmer of gold hidden underneath it. It catches my eye and I grab it. It's a Galleon. I clench it in my fist, feeling it grow warm then hot and drop it into my pocket. Parkinson's a light sleeper, I know she'll feel her coin and know that I need to see her.

To my surprise, I feel the coin growing hot in my pocket once again. I take it out and find the word:

Library

I'm outside the closed library, having run the whole way. My face is red and sweaty. Parkinson arrives a few minutes later. Her expression is concerned. She takes in my countenance and hastens her last few steps until she's right in front of me.

"Tell me what's wrong," she says and, from my mouth, spills the whole story. The cold, the burning fire...it...

When I finish, she doesn't say anything. I stare at her but I can't read what she's thinking. "So it's starting tonight?" she asks and I nod. She stares out a window and I can tell, now, that she's registering what time it is. "Probably 6.30?" she murmurs to herself. I can see her fear now. It mirrors my own.

"Come," she says. "It's time we give it one last go; we're going to tell everyone one last time about what's going to happen. They have to know. And we have to try."

I'm about to protest but then I spot a grief so deep, so vast in her brown eyes that I catch myself and nod instead. I understand that Parkinson needs to do it. It has taken priority in her heart, this is something that has to be done so that when she dies, she'll die without guilt, without the burden of knowing that we let everyone die.

The sun is rising. It's so beautiful. It'll be the last sunrise anyone will see ever again.