Fallen Saint
Written By: Logical Nonsense
Chapter: Four "Remember"
Summary: Hermione was brutally murdered in her fifth year of Hogwarts, but now someone has brought her back. Why? How? Everything will be just like it always was, right? No. Hermione doesn't remember her past life or anyone from it. How are the Terrific Trio supposed to act now? And without the prejudices Hermione lived with before, how much will she change?
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: HP and the SS, HP and the CS, HP and the PoA, HP and the GoF
Disclaimer:
This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Additional Disclaimer: Possible references/themes from Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Authors Note: ______ If you have any questions, comments, criticism (or praise) please leave a review! The next chapter should be up by ______ --- If you leave an email address, I will email you when I post the next chapter.
*
"How do you measure – measure a year?
In daylights, in sunsets,
in midnights, in cups of coffee,
in inches, in miles,
in laughter, in strife?"
"How do you measure the life of a woman or man?
In truths that she learned,
or in times that he cried?
In the bridges he burned
or the way that she died?"
"Let's celebrate,
remember a year in the life of friends."
Title: Seasons of Love
Rent
*
"Professor McGonagall," I knocked on her door, and she glanced up sharply from her seat behind her desk, where she had been grading papers or something of that sort. The chalkboard behind her was filled with notes for the fourth year class that had just concluded. I flinched slightly at her cold gaze, but it warmed when it landed on me.
"Yes, Her- Harley?" she almost slipped, but recovered nicely, "Did you need something?"
"Harry's all right, now," I said bluntly (I didn't know how to bring the subject up), and the pen that was in her right hand clattered to the floor. I looked behind me, and, sure enough, Harry had walked into the room. His face was still pale, but the tiniest hint of color was returning to his cheeks. He looked like a pencil, and his clothes hung off him like rags, but he was okay. That was the important part. He smiled timidly, and McGonagall jumped out of her chair, nearly knocking it over in her rush. She enveloped him in a tight, unprofessional hug. She released him a moment later, muttering an apology.
"Professor, do you know where Remus, I mean, Professor Lupin and Sirius would be?" Harry asked. I briefly wondered if I'd get to see Sirius, because I had heard so much about him.
"I imagine Sirius is in Hogsmeade, but Professor Lupin is probably in his classroom. Mind you, he does have a class, so don't even think about bursting in there!" McGonagall smiled affectionately and rested her hand on Harry's shoulder.
"It's good to see you back, Harry," she said quietly. Her eyes traveled across his face, and everyone remained quiet for a few minutes. Finally, she cleared her throat and spoke, "I'll get Professor Lupin and Sirius. You two just stay here, all right?"
We nodded, and she left quickly, closing the door securely behind her. I heard her cast a simple locking charm, before her footsteps trailed off down the hall. Harry and I didn't speak until her return fifteen minutes later with Professor Lupin, Professor Dumbledore, and a large, shaggy dog.
"Harley, you can return to your dorms. It's way past curfew, and you do have classes tomorrow," Professor Dumbledore excused me, and I left quietly without argument. They wanted to be alone, but that was understandable. Plus, I was exhausted with the night's excursions.
I made it back to the Bird's Nest – the colorful name given to Ravenclaw's tower – in record time and climbed into bed, taking time only to change into pajamas. It seemed that the moment my head hit the pillow, I was asleep.
*
The three days leading up to the Halloween party flew by in a flash of cheers, tears, and 'welcome back's. Harry made his appearance at breakfast the next morning, and everyone loved him again. No one even mentioned his little bout with insanity – well, no one but the Slytherins.
Ron had kept his mouth shut about the Hermione/Harley deal, but he still gave me the silent treatment. Harry must have noticed it, but he didn't say anything. Harry still flashed me small smiles, a continuous thanks – although it was a silent gratitude.
Ron was looking happier, now that Harry was back, but he still had that lost look in his eyes. I wondered if he'd always had it since Hermione's death, or if her/my reappearance had triggered it.
It's strange, what I'm doing. I talk about Hermione as if she isn't me, which in a way she is and in a way she isn't. I am in Hermione's body, and I have her knowledge and feelings – but not her memory. Where, as Harley, I have Harley's memories and thoughts – but her feelings blend with Hermione's so that they are one set of emotions.
I think the reason I wanted to be Harley so badly, was not only because I was afraid of living up to the expectations that were Hermione, but because I was coping with my own death. By thinking of myself and my death abstractly, as if it was someone else, I could see it clearly. But when I think of it as my death, it gets fuzzy – the line between reality and insanity. Because, what is insanity but the lack of reality?
I shook my head free of all thoughts, gazing at myself in the full length mirror in my dormitory. I had finished getting ready early, so I examined my appearance. It being a Halloween party, costumes were mandatory. So I wore a medieval style dress. The underskirt was a silky off-white material that swished whenever I walked. The shirt beneath the dress matched the underskirt in material, and the collar of the shirt was low and square-shaped. The dress piece was a dark blue with an undertone of violet. The front and back tied at the shoulders, as did the sleeves to the body of the dress. The sleeves were large, but did not reach to my hands, instead stopping just below my elbows and flaring out. The off-white undershirt's sleeves were visible beneath the dress'. The front was laced up from the belly-button to a few inches short of the collar. The skirt of the dress was floor-length and opened to show the underskirt beneath it. The waist was high, which therefore made the skirt appear longer.
"What are you supposed to be?" Lisa asked as she pulled on a pair of tall, white boots. She wore a vibrant orange dress that stopped mid-thigh, and her dark hair fell just past her chin.
"Did you get a haircut?" I asked, forgetting to answer her question and for the first time, noticing her short locks. She brought a hand up to her hair, fingering a strand and biting her lip.
"Does it look okay?" she asked nervously, tilting her head to the side while she inspected her new hairstyle in a small mirror that hung above her bed.
"It's really cute," I watched her for a minute, before returning to my own reflection.
"So, what are you supposed to be?" she repeated her question.
"The Lady of the Lake or Morgan le Fay, your choice," I replied, smoothing out the skirt of my dress.
"Original," she complimented, "Now turn around; let me see what you've done with your hair and face." She directed, and I spun around at her command. I hadn't applied much make-up. Only a light gold eyeshadow, a hint of blush, and clear lipgloss decorated my face, and I thought it looked simple, but still elegant. My hair, which usually dropped below my shoulders, was pulled back into a bun that sat high on my head. Again, nothing extravagant, but still nice. I wasn't drop-dead-gorgeous, or even beautiful, but I was pretty, at least for tonight.
"So? How is it?" I asked when I received no evaluation. Lisa's mouth was hanging open in a small 'O', and her fingers were resting on her bottom lip. I asked, "What? Is it that horrible?"
I looked around. Now, Padma and Mandy were staring at me with similar expressions on their faces.
"What?" I demanded, getting slightly annoyed. I didn't think I looked that horrid, but from their expressions you'd think I was a hag or something equally ugly.
Lisa was the first to break the silence. She shook her head slightly, staring at the floor, and then she looked up. Her face had paled, as if she had seen a ghost – not that it was entirely uncommon at Hogwarts (correction: if a muggle had seen a ghost).
"You just look like her so much," Lisa replied faintly, "It was just… shocking."
"Like who?" I asked, wondering what could emit such a reaction from all three girls. They didn't reply, just continued to stare, so I prodded, "Like who?"
"Hermione," Mandy mumbled, "You look so much like her – the color, that blue – just like the Yule Ball…" she trailed off, biting her quivering lip. Had Hermione and Mandy been good friends?
"I do?" I asked, confused. I quickly glanced into the mirror – the spell was still in place.
"No, you don't, but – you do," Lisa tried to explain, "Like, looking at your features all separately – you don't look like her at all, but the whole effect … I don't know…"
"It's the eyes," Mandy spoke up, her voice catching in her throat, "The eyes, and the hair – just like the Yule Ball – and the color of the dress…"
"Maybe I should change…" I reluctantly turned toward the bathroom to take off the beautiful gown, but Lisa grabbed my arm.
"No," she shook her head, "You look great. Don't change."
I watched her for a moment, before nodding my head. I wouldn't change. Lisa walked over to her jewelry box on her bedside table and rummaged through it for a moment, before pulling out a rope of small pearls on a golden necklace. It was short and simple, except for the strand of three pearls, probably each a centimeter below the one above, that dropped down.
"Here, it'll look great," she spun me around and clasped it together in the back. Her hands were shaking slightly, and I was left once again to wonder at the impact Hermione had had on people.
"Just don't lose it!" she warned and pulled me around to face her again. She grinned, "You look wicked. You'll knock 'em dead!"
*
I stepped out of the light from the hallway and into the darkness of the Great Hall, nervously fiddling with my fingers. Blaise was behind me with her long-time boyfriend, Andrew Montague. The Ravenclaw girls had simply taken too long getting ready, so I had left in search of Blaise, who I quickly found. Unfortunately, she had been with Pansy Parkinson (don't even get me started on her) who clung to Draco Malfoy like a leech. Still, I would rather walk in with Blaise and her crew than by myself.
Blaise, Draco, and Pansy's reaction had been similar to Lisa's. Blaise's eyes had widened and a strange look crossed her face, which she still hadn't lost. Draco had mumbled about 'Mudblood look-alikes, and Pansy had just stared. They had quickly gotten over their shock, and had returned to calling me 'bird-brain'. Blaise, thankfully, had told Pansy to stuff it. Surprisingly enough, Pansy listened, although not without much grumbling.
We split up quickly; the Slytherins moving to a table in the back, leaving myself to search for familiar faces. I spotted Cho and started toward her, but someone grabbed my arm. I spun around and was surprised to find Ron standing behind me. He didn't speak for a moment, and I just stood there, waiting for him to make a move.
"Hermione?" his voice was so small, so insecure. He sounded like a child lost in a supermarket.
"Ron, I'm –" I stopped. The look in his eyes; it was so lonely, scared – lost. "Hermione. I'm Hermione," I finished. If I couldn't give him Hermione forever, at least I could give him a few hours.
He took a sharp breath and timidly lifted his hand to my face. I knew I didn't look like Hermione, and I wished I could drop the spell – if only for Ron's eyes. A crazy thought invaded my mind.
"Ron, follow me!" I grabbed his hand and dragged him out the Great Hall and up a flight of stairs. I made my way to the Transfiguration classroom which was right above the Great Hall. The music from below could still be heard in the empty room. I shut the door and told him to turn around. I quickly floated the desks toward the edges of the room, creating a space just big enough for one couple to dance in.
"Caché Visage," I mumbled, pointing my wand at the tip of my nose. An itchy feeling washed over my face and hair, and I knew the counter-spell had worked. I looked like Hermione again. I requested, "Turn around, Ron."
He turned around slowly, and I heard his breath catch in his throat. He didn't blink for five minutes straight. He only stared at me. Finally, he scrambled across the room and embraced me. I closed my eyes, enjoying the feel of Ron's arms wrapped around me. He smelled of peppermint and cologne.
"I've missed you so much, so much, Hermione," he whispered and I felt a pang of guilt. After tonight, Hermione would be gone. Which would be worse – having Hermione for a night and losing her again or not having Hermione at all? I wished I didn't have to make that decision, but it was too late now.
A slow song began to play in the Great Hall, and he slipped his arms around my waist, rocking slowly to the beat. I entwined my fingers together around his neck and laid my head against his chest. I could hear his heart beating rapidly and feel his chest rising with every breath.
The song ended way too fast for my liking, but he didn't let go of me. I looked up, locking my eyes with his blue ones. Before I realized what was happening, his lips were on mine. It was a chaste, gentle kiss, but it left my lips tingling and my knees weak. The strange thing was his lips touching mine felt so familiar.
"We've done that before, haven't we?" I whispered, holding onto his shoulders for support. He mumbled a yes, kissing my cheek, then my forehead. He pulled back suddenly.
"What?" I asked, worried I had done something wrong. He lifted his finger to my forehead and traced the scar.
"I'm sorry," he said softly, letting his hand drop to his side.
"It's not your fault," I replied, hoping he wouldn't pull a 'Harry' on me. I don't think I could have handled it right then.
"I know," he said, "I've missed you."
"It's been a year," I stated, not quite sure what to say.
"Twelve months," he replied quietly, making small circles on my back with his fingers.
"Three hundred and sixty-five days," I replied, grinning slightly. I felt so safe in his arms - I never wanted to leave.
"A bazillion classes," he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice, "All of which you missed. Tsk, tsk."
"An entire year," I repeated.
He pulled me closer, "It felt longer."