***Straight into the story...
"Ok, you tell me first, I promise I wont tell anyone, ever." Hermione was begging; it was so obvious.
"Ok, if you say so. Two things you must promise first, though." Zoë was giving away a story that had been bottled away for thirteen years. She had always known the truth, lied about it to keep it a secret. And here she was, telling her darkest secret to a newly made prefect! "You have to promise not to tell a soul, or freak out or faint or anything. All clear?"
"Why would I freak out and faint?" Hermione asked.
"It's not that it's scary or anything, it's just...I'm guessing you've heard a lot of stories about this, I just want you to know that this is the true version, ok?"
"Yes."
"Right, on with the show." As Zoë began her story, Hermione could feel herself slipping into the image, as though she was standing right next to Zoë, hearing all the sounds, the yells, the words of hate being barked across the room.
She could almost see the faces; they were slightly blurred, as though everything had been pushed just off focus.
Hermione had no idea that she had been situated into the heart of a spell, worked by a dark witch.
Hermione just listened.
"It was October thirtieth. I could hear them yelling downstairs, Mum and Dad. Mum was upset because Dad couldn't be there for my birthday, Ministry work and everything, you could see it across her face, in her eyes."
Hermione jolted out of the dream for a split second, and as though she hadn't noticed them before, she looked straight into Zoë's eyes. Instead of being the clear grey they had been the first time she had met the girl, the eyes were a deep sapphire blue, and they seemed sad.
"It ended up that Dad left, went to do whatever work was set out for him, Mum stayed home looking after me, my birthday's Halloween and I'd be turning one, there were flashing balloons everywhere, they were flashing-if I can remember- gold, red, silver and green. Mum was sitting by the fire, writing in a book, this one, actually." Zoë held up a book that she'd taken from underneath her pillow. 'Dreams' was written across it in curly letters. "There was a knock on the door. Mum opened it, knew who it was. She had said 'Tom'-that was all; Mum walked straight into the living room-with the stranger following her-sat right next to me and traced a symbol over my forehead with her finger; it stung and I cried.
'I don't do bribes, Tom,' she whispered
'Tell me.' He had replied."
Hermione knew who 'Tom' was, had found out in her second year at Hogwarts, but she didn't know why Zoë's mother would call him by his first name.
"'Ok, Tom. Just don't blame me if everything goes wrong. There at Godric's Hollow.' I may have only been a baby, but I knew what was going on. It doesn't take brains to know when someone should be keeping these things secret."
Hermione gasped. All this time she'd thought otherwise, for over a year, she'd thought she had had the story set straight, and here she was being told otherwise.
"It's pretty drastic, really, having your own twin sister spill on you, she did it for good, though, in whole, even if she was a dark witch at heart. That's the terrible thing though; he had a habit of killing people, Tom Riddle, he killed my mother, I can still hear the words, I can still see the flash of green light, hear the bang of party balloons popping under force, see the figure of my mother, falling to the floor in a heap. Then he turned on me. He raised his wand and shouted words and after that all I can remember was a burning pain in my head.
They found me, the Ministry, took me straight to an orphanage. Terrible life ever since, huh?"
Hermione didn't reply: she was in shock. She composed herself enough to ask Zoë, "What about your father?"
"Oh, well what you know is true, after that. If it takes you that long to put two and two together, then you'll never know what happened to the father of Nagïna Zoë Black, why he ended up in Azkaban.
Right then, when are we setting off to Diagon Alley, I really need to get a cat, I hate marmalade tabbies!"
Although Hermione looked a little hurt from Zoë speaking of Crookshanks like that, it would probably be better if they did do something to take there minds off of the most boring summer this century.
*** please review! This seems harsh, but to make sure people are actually reading my fics, I'm not gonna write anymore until someone reviews it. K?
"Ok, you tell me first, I promise I wont tell anyone, ever." Hermione was begging; it was so obvious.
"Ok, if you say so. Two things you must promise first, though." Zoë was giving away a story that had been bottled away for thirteen years. She had always known the truth, lied about it to keep it a secret. And here she was, telling her darkest secret to a newly made prefect! "You have to promise not to tell a soul, or freak out or faint or anything. All clear?"
"Why would I freak out and faint?" Hermione asked.
"It's not that it's scary or anything, it's just...I'm guessing you've heard a lot of stories about this, I just want you to know that this is the true version, ok?"
"Yes."
"Right, on with the show." As Zoë began her story, Hermione could feel herself slipping into the image, as though she was standing right next to Zoë, hearing all the sounds, the yells, the words of hate being barked across the room.
She could almost see the faces; they were slightly blurred, as though everything had been pushed just off focus.
Hermione had no idea that she had been situated into the heart of a spell, worked by a dark witch.
Hermione just listened.
"It was October thirtieth. I could hear them yelling downstairs, Mum and Dad. Mum was upset because Dad couldn't be there for my birthday, Ministry work and everything, you could see it across her face, in her eyes."
Hermione jolted out of the dream for a split second, and as though she hadn't noticed them before, she looked straight into Zoë's eyes. Instead of being the clear grey they had been the first time she had met the girl, the eyes were a deep sapphire blue, and they seemed sad.
"It ended up that Dad left, went to do whatever work was set out for him, Mum stayed home looking after me, my birthday's Halloween and I'd be turning one, there were flashing balloons everywhere, they were flashing-if I can remember- gold, red, silver and green. Mum was sitting by the fire, writing in a book, this one, actually." Zoë held up a book that she'd taken from underneath her pillow. 'Dreams' was written across it in curly letters. "There was a knock on the door. Mum opened it, knew who it was. She had said 'Tom'-that was all; Mum walked straight into the living room-with the stranger following her-sat right next to me and traced a symbol over my forehead with her finger; it stung and I cried.
'I don't do bribes, Tom,' she whispered
'Tell me.' He had replied."
Hermione knew who 'Tom' was, had found out in her second year at Hogwarts, but she didn't know why Zoë's mother would call him by his first name.
"'Ok, Tom. Just don't blame me if everything goes wrong. There at Godric's Hollow.' I may have only been a baby, but I knew what was going on. It doesn't take brains to know when someone should be keeping these things secret."
Hermione gasped. All this time she'd thought otherwise, for over a year, she'd thought she had had the story set straight, and here she was being told otherwise.
"It's pretty drastic, really, having your own twin sister spill on you, she did it for good, though, in whole, even if she was a dark witch at heart. That's the terrible thing though; he had a habit of killing people, Tom Riddle, he killed my mother, I can still hear the words, I can still see the flash of green light, hear the bang of party balloons popping under force, see the figure of my mother, falling to the floor in a heap. Then he turned on me. He raised his wand and shouted words and after that all I can remember was a burning pain in my head.
They found me, the Ministry, took me straight to an orphanage. Terrible life ever since, huh?"
Hermione didn't reply: she was in shock. She composed herself enough to ask Zoë, "What about your father?"
"Oh, well what you know is true, after that. If it takes you that long to put two and two together, then you'll never know what happened to the father of Nagïna Zoë Black, why he ended up in Azkaban.
Right then, when are we setting off to Diagon Alley, I really need to get a cat, I hate marmalade tabbies!"
Although Hermione looked a little hurt from Zoë speaking of Crookshanks like that, it would probably be better if they did do something to take there minds off of the most boring summer this century.
*** please review! This seems harsh, but to make sure people are actually reading my fics, I'm not gonna write anymore until someone reviews it. K?