Disclaimer: See Chapter 1, please.

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"He will not come back. He will have………..gone on."

-Nearly Headless Nick, Harry Potter And The Order Of The Phoenix.

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"I know nothing of the secrets of death,"

-Nearly Headless Nick, Harry Potter And The Order Of The Phoenix

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TIME OF THE GHOST.

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          "You do not belong here," came a quiet voice, accompanied by a silent stare. A jolt of pure electricity rushed up Hermione's spine, racing through her neurons. The Bloody Baron knows, she thought. Her feelings were a fusion of fear and relief, but more of the former than the later, for it was no jolly guardian angel that she was looking at. On the contrary, nothing could be more ominous than the silvery blood-drenched creature in front of her.

          "No," she whispered. "I don't."

          But as her heart thumped at his cryptic words, she found herself wondering, if the ghost would deceive her just as Johnson did. The chilling smile on his face, during his last moments still spooked her, and she prayed that she need not discover the reason of his joy. What sort of person is happy to be burnt? Does that mean that he is finally going to…………..no. I don't want to think about it. It is impossible.

          The blank stare was still present on the ghost's face, but for a moment, just a nanosecond, she could have sworn that a look of recognition was flashed. Neither said anything for five whole minutes, but as the sixth minute passed, Hermione could not stand it any longer. As a mortal, she did not have all the time in the universe to play staring games.

          "How do you know?" she blurted out, as she rubbed her palms. The temperature seemed to be dropping by the second, and it did not help that the Bloody Baron's translucent apparition numbed her nerves.

          The answer was simple, but no more coherent than his first sentence.

          "I am a ghost."

          "And?"

          "And time means nothing to spirits."

          Hermione felt cheated. The wraith's responses were downright unrevealing. They told her absolutely nothing that she needed. Like how to return. Or how to stop Tom. Or why Johnson's mouth had twisted into a smile at last minute. Fine. He wants to play simple? She, too, uttered an elementary, single-syllable question. "So?"

          The Bloody Baron gave her a long, expressionless look. Hermione had the sudden impression that she was gazing at a deadpan, inscrutable corpse. In a way, I am, she thought bitterly. But he has started to speak. And that was her main focus.           

           "It is all happening simultaneously for creatures immortal. We are dead. We've escaped the boundaries of time. We have died, our bodies destroyed, and yet our existence prevails. Past, present, for us, it is just a simple cognizance of the mind. For the living, it is real. For the dead, it is perception. I can see the present, past, and future. You may consider yourself in the past, but I exist concurrently."

          Hermione frowned a little. Was that how Nearly Headless Nick knew that Sirius was never going to come back? He seemed so sure, when he told Harry that Sirius would go on, she thought uneasily. It is as though he knew. As though……………..he had seen the future. A future without Sirius. But a second thought struck her.

            "If being a ghost means that you know what timeline I'm from," she began, "How come no other has approached me? Nearly Headless Nick simply avoids me, while the Fat Friar treats me like any other student. Why makes you so special? Sir?"

          The Bloody Baron's eyes were vacant, but intent. It was very hypnotizing to stare into those orbs, and not lose your mind, thought Hermione. She was broken, stung, deceived, and downright frightened, but she pressed on. I need to get out of here. He's a ghost. By helping me, he has nothing to lose……..or gain.

          "They are cowards, who play by the rules," came an ethereal voice. His mouth barely moved, but Hermione knew who had spoken. No one else's words had the unpleasant, quivering effect on her. No one, save for a certain abominable, perished portrait. I hope he stays perished, thought Hermione.

          "Rules? What rules?"

          "The rules that govern those who chose immortality."

          Hermione clenched her teeth. It was extremely frustrating, to speak to a ghost, she thought angrily. They were just running around in circles, and that conversation was not taking her anywhere. If anything, she was even more confused than when she first started out. Her fear and reverence for him all but disappeared, but she knew that to stalk away like a rebel-without-a –cause would be her downfall. But she hated stalling.

          "So you've got rules. Do you mind telling me what they're about?" she pressed, her curiosity substantial enough to rival the nosiness of Rita Skeeter.

          But the Bloody Baron only gave an infuriating gesture. He shook his head. Hermione had to restrain herself from howling. "None of us are allowed to reveal the Secrets. You will have to become one of us to find out, mortal," he said. It meant that she had to be dead.

          Hermione cursed inwardly. Was that why Nick had told Harry that he "Knew nothing of the secrets of death"? He was not allowed to disclose them? Her mind raced.

          "So why tell me?" she demanded. I'm going to die anyway, she thought, a little foolishly. So I don't care if I've offended him. "Why tempt me with your words? It is shameless, how you offer me hope, and before I know it, you snatch that piece of faith away with your fluid fingers. Why are you telling me these?" she almost shouted. The emotion in her voice gathered momentum, and threatened to explode. I'm better off without these so-called allies.

          Before she had time to turn away, head to the bathroom and scream blue murder, seven words were spoken, by the unmoving mouth. Seven words that offered a slice of optimism for her worn-out soul, and yet, it was those seven words that may rip the last crumbs of perseverance away from Hermione Granger.

          "Because mere regulations do not affect me."

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          Tom Marvolo Riddle squeezed his eyes shut, as he sank into an uncomfortable chair in the Slytherin common room. Hermione, he thought. I thought that you understood. Apparently, I was mistaken.

          His long fingers slipped into his pocket, re-emerging with a stone in them. He stroked the smooth rock, and his thoughts envisaged a certain Prefect's cheeks. The world is a forsaken place, and you too, have let me down. It is just as he says……….there is no good or bad. Right or wrong. Conscience or profit. Only those who know how to turn things to his benefit deserve a place in this world. You almost changed that notion, when you taught me that there are things worth living for.

          As those sentimental thoughts disapparated, Tom's face became the epitome of evil. Almost. He said a word, a profound word of hatred in Parseltongue, and somewhere in Hogwarts, year 1942, a gigantic, deadly creature stirred. It is time.  

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Em: Hello? *no one answers*

          I'm not sure if anyone is reading this, but if you are, I'd like to wish you a Merry Christmas! Whee! Have a nice one! Here's a silly poem for you to criticize.

          Christmas Eve.

            I tiptoe downstairs and see,

            Oh, a lovely, green and red tree;

            Then I smile, and say a little prayer,

            That you too, will be as happy as me.