Chapter 4
Ron sat long after Hermione's body was taken away, trying to convince
himself that she was still there. He closed his eyes, and the memories
came flooding back to him. Her sweet smile, so pure and innocent.
Her brown eyes, wet from crying, looking into his own eyes, pleading for
his safety. And he had looked back into those eyes, and promised
her everything.
But he had failed, utterly and completely. She had died.
Right in front of him. He had done nothing.
A window flew open, and rain splashed onto the cold stone floor.
A book, dropped by Professor McGonagall, opened, its pages turning.
Suddenly, Ron had the urge to look at the book. At his touch, the
book flew open, and stopped abruptly at a page which was stained in blood.
He skimmed through it, and looked around the hallway. He spotted
the small knife, still soaked in Hermione's blood. "Perfect," he
murmured.
Ron raced through the rain, drenched. Hermione's dagger
was clutched to his chest, the blood from it staining his dark shirt.
He kept running, barely aware of his cold, bare feet sloshing in the deep
puddles. He didn't know what, exactly, he was looking for, but he
knew he would find it somewhere, and that he would know what it was, when
he found it. If he found it.
Looking up through his hair, plastered to his forehead, he saw
a large statue of a faerie. He had never seen something like this
in Hogwarts before. It glowed with an almost holy light, its surface
untouched by the sheets of water. The innocent face of a girl looked
down on him, and suddenly he felt sheltered by her carefully sculpted wings,
her peasant's sash. In her hand, she held a knife, with the
exact resemblance of the one in his hand. Seeing this, he remembered
what he was out here for.
He stood, looking up at the girl, and took the dagger in his
hand. He held out his wrist, and drew a thin line along his skin.
He winced at the pain, his blood falling to the ground before a pair of
bare, stone feet. He threw his head back up, as lightning thundered.
"You want a life?" He yelled, barely standing, fighting torrents
of wind and water. "Here!" Lifting out his wrist, he said, "Take
mine! Give her back!!!"
His blood seemed to glow almost unnaturally. The faerie
came to life with a blinding array of colors. She let down a pale,
yet soft peach, hand, and lifted him off the ground. A voice echoed
in his ears, "Very well."
****
Hermione's eyes opened. She felt dizzy, as if she had spun
in circles too long, and lost her balance. A white cloth was laid
over her entire body, including her head. Her hair had been adorned
with small white flowers, matching an expensive silk robe. White
cloth, and robe...flowers.... This meant one thing. She had woken
from the dead.
She took her fingers from a bouquet of white lilies and lifted
the shroud from her head. The room around her was dimly lit.
She had been placed on a cold concrete bed lined in gold. Rose petals
surrounded her. Golden candles hovered above her, casting eerie light
around the room. Her ghostly white prison.
****
Ron woke to warm, sweltering darkness. He began to move,
but stopped abruptly when he heard a small hiss and felt something large
drop onto his bare chest. A hairy, 8-legged something....
His heart skipped a beat.
He tried to concentrate on keeping his breath normal. the
spider, easily as big as his outstretched hand, crawled up to his neck.
"Hey there, buddy," he said, panicking, "How about you move away so I can
just get up?"
Seeing as the spider had no intention of moving, Ron slowly stood
up, acting as though balancing a book on his head, careful not to move
his neck. The spider, however, decided it didn't like Ron's choice
of movements. It hissed in his ear. Ron, who had been standing
on a thin ledge, lost his footing, and fell.
He heard a loud crunch as he hit the ground. He knew it
wasn't from his body. Then, as he stood up, he felt what was beneath
him. Spiders. Millions of them, climbing over his bare feet,
sinking their small fangs into his skin. The large spider on his
neck struck, just above his shoulder. His vision became cloudy.
His whole body shuddered with the feeling of oncoming death. His
skin was numb, now unfeeling to the spiders climbing all over him.
He just wanted to lay down, to lay down and sleep...
Suddenly a picture came to him. A smiling face looked at
him through the fog in his head, and he knew, somehow, that he had to get
to the light. He started running. His legs were struggling
to cut through the wall of insects. He felt strange, as if he could
not control his body. He tripped. Fell among the spiders, which
tried to bury him under their own small bodies. He struggled, crawling
toward the entrance. He was almost there... almost....
****
Harry sat, numb with shock, as teachers raced around him.
Almost the entire lot of Gryffindors had been taken to the infirmary, all
with the same symptoms as Fred. He wondered what it was. Ginny
sat next to him, asleep. She was too tired to cry. He was as
well. Or maybe he was too in denial to do much of anything.
Both of his friends were gone. Hermione dead, and Ron most likely
at the same fate. He closed his eyes, remembering every day the three
had spent together. Now the only two things he had left to remind
him of his best friends were a dead body and pictures. He looked
to his side, at Ginny's tear-stained face buried in his shirt, her red
hair falling across her thin shoulders. Almost in a dream, he ran
his fingers through her soft hair, a river of spun fire. He knew
that Ron had spent his life protecting the small angel at his side.
Now it was Harry's turn.
****
He fell. His eyes were closed. He didn't dare open
them. He could feel swirling air currents, almost hear them seep
into his skin. His skin prickled as the dark, thick, cold air
penetrated his being. Then, as suddenly as he had fallen, he stopped.
He hit the cold, rocky floor with his shoulder, and was forced to open
his eyes.
A dark room loomed before him, its dark, barred windows holding
a landscape more menacing than the room itself. In one corner lay
a pile of white, blood-soaked rags.
Lightning flashed outside, lighting up the dark room for an instant,
and he saw the blanket move, shaking slightly. Suddenly, the blanket
rose sharply, then sank to the ground, revealing a feminine silhouette.
Waving hair fell slightly past the shoulders of the girl, who was apparently
wearing the white cloth. Lightning flashed again, and a torch on
the wall jumped to life. He looked, with a gasp, on the pale arms,
slashed open, bleeding heavily, the bruised shoulders, the ghostly face
of Hermione.
****
She wandered slowly down the hallway, wondering what she was
looking for. She passed the Gryffindor locker room, looking inside
slightly. She saw, to her shock, the entire pile of broomsticks,
smashed. Splinters hovered in the air, casting dark shadows on the
ruin. She did not see the Firebolt among the shards.
She started running, parts of her long dress tearing away effortlessly.
Her cold feet hit the soaked grass, and she peered up through the pouring
rain. She had come to the foot of a large statue. The pearly
face looked innocent, yet sad. Overcome with sudden grief, she looked
down at her cold, pale feet, and noticed the blood puddled around them.
Scared, she leaned down, running her hands underneath her feet, and stopping
when one of her hands came to a sharp edge. She quickly stepped away
from where she was standing, and looked down again. There was a dagger.
The dagger. Drenched in his blood.
Suddenly frantic, she picked it up and flung it into the air,
at the newly raised angel statue. It disappeared in the large granite
hands. And then she fell.
****
He stared into her white face, surprised as it suddenly flashed
with anger. "How dare you," she said, trembling with rage, "even
set foot here?"
Shocked, he took a step backwards, stuttering, "What?"
She glared at him, tossing her hair. "You betrayed me," she spat,
hushing his protest by adding, "Don't deny it. You hurt me every
day. See this?" she said, holding out he slashed arms. "These
are from you. Every single one."
She traced one of the more recent cuts with her finger, then
stepped toward him. He opened his mouth to speak, but she put her
red finger to his mouth, drawing it across his lips. "Sh..." she
said, "just feel the power. Don't you love it? Can't you taste
it? You made it. Why don't you love it?" The smell of
blood was beginning to make him sick, but he couldn't get rid of it.
She smiled innocently, and drew the same broad red line on her
own lips and tongue. Before he knew what she was doing, she kissed
him. Not the first, sweet, I-kind-of-like-you kiss. It was
a kiss of revenge, full of hate and love and angst. He could taste
the blood in his mouth. He pushed her away, saying, "You're not the
real Hermione."
Her eyes widened. "I'm not?" she said, vulnerable, her
lip quivering. A cut on her arm appeared from nowhere, and blood
splashed on the stone floor. She fell to the ground, crying, and
he ran to comfort her. He embraced her quivering form, and she seemed
to calm in his arms.
Then he felt a sharp pain in his gut. She looked up, and
ripped open his stomach with her dagger. "Love me now, don't you?"
she smiled. "You want to comfort me. I felt it." And
she laughed, a laugh of triumph. She handed him the dagger, rich
with his blood, and held her hands behind her back, pulling her hair away
to reveal her neck. "Do it," she whispered, "kill me. I know
you want to. I know you can. No one will stop you in here.
It's just you and me." Her eyes flashed with impending vengeance.
"No," he whispered, then shouted, "No!" She sat back in
surprise, and the world spun before his eyes.
*
He landed with a thud on his back, and choked on blood rising
to his throat. He groaned, rolling over on his side. His eyes
were scrunched shut in a vain attempt to stop the severe pain in
his stomach, and he knew not all of the water running off his face into
the grass was from the rain ahead.
He heard a soft rustling in the grass, and his eyes opened quickly.
A pair of bright, brown eyes stared back at him, and a hand brushed his
hair from his eyes. "Hermione?" he whispered, amazed.
She smiled.
A/N: Oh... my....god! I haven't written anything in this for SO LONG!! Argh! I think now that it more than kind of sucks, but I've already put more than half of it out, so... ahh, the laments of Boz. Oh well, tried to make this part interesting... there'll be maybe 1 or 2, possibly 3 more installments. Love y'all! --Anna
D/C: Not mine
