Fallen Saint
Written By: Logical Nonsense
Chapter: Five - "Unwanted"
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: 11/10/02 If you have any questions, comments, criticism (or praise) please leave a review! The next chapter should be up by ?-possibly-end-of-November? --- If you leave an email address, I will email you when I post the next chapter.
*
"You don't know me
Don't ignore me
You don't want me there
You just shut me out
You don't know me
Don't ignore me
If you had your way
You'd just shut me up
Make me go away"
Title: Unwanted
Artist: Avril Lavigne
*
I hadn't spoken to Ron since the night of the dance, two days before. I had avoided him thus far, mimicking his own game. I simply didn't know what to say to him. I had no idea how to approach him. Would he be angry? Sad? Happy? There was just no way to know – other than actually speaking with him.
I shook my head, running my hands through my hair and pulling. I had my Potions essay nearly complete, but it was still four inches too short, and Potions was in ten minutes. I had wasted my entire study hall thinking about Ron and the dance.
I stood up, stuffing the essay in my bag. There was no use whining, and it was too late to do anything about it. I threw the bag over my shoulder and shuffled out of the library, dreading Potions.
Not only had I not finished my essay, but this class we were attempting to make an appearance potion and the antidote. I wasn't worried about the original potion, but the antidote was what frightened me. There was a good chance it would remove the spell Dumbledore had cast. If I drank the antidote, I would return to my original form: Hermione Granger. And that couldn't be a good thing.
I couldn't go to Dumbledore with my dilemma, though. For some reason, I just couldn't turn to him. I was afraid of him, but only subconsciously. The fear was completely illogical, but it was there, an inbred fear.
I was halfway to potions when I heard my name called from down the hall. I turned around slowly, already knowing who I would see. I would recognize that voice anywhere – how could I forget it? I also recognized the unwanted feelings stirring inside me that often accompanied the voice.
"Hi, Ron," I smiled slightly, tired of avoiding him but dreading the upcoming confrontation.
"I can't talk long, but…" he took a deep breath, "I just wanted to say thank you for – well, you know," he shrugged.
"I- I," I didn't know what to say. I wasn't expecting that. I figured he'd either A) get mad at me for deceiving him like that, B) think Hermione was here to stay, or C) pretend it never happened.
"I've got to go to Potions," I finished lamely and turned my back on him, racing down the hall. I could feel my cheeks heating up and hoped the blush would recede before I got to Potions.
Unfortunately, my wish wasn't granted. As I took my seat beside Blaise, she teased playfully, "Run into Ron, did you?"
"No," I replied, opening up my book to avoid looking at her.
"Who are you trying to kid?" she asked, exasperated. I didn't answer, so she rolled her eyes and lit the fire beneath the cauldron.
"Reports are to be turned in at the end of class," Snape announced. I made a mental note to hand it in – if we forgot, well… that was the end of that. You fail the assignment. We worked without speaking for the rest of class, and our potion was quickly complete.
A moment later, Snape called everyone's attention to the front of the room, where he stood before a table of ingredients. It was amazingly quiet, and I briefly wondered how he was able to control everyone so completely.
"For simplicity's sake, you will all turn your hair blue, as well as your eyes," he instructed, "Add three drops of blueberry extract to your potion. Let it simmer for exactly twelve minutes, and then place a freezing spell on it until everyone has completed their potions."
I rested my chin in the palm of my hand and waited for the rest of the class to finish. It wasn't too much later that the dreaded time came. In a sharp, condescending tone Snape said, "Miss Nicholson, your turn."
I gulped it down quickly, confident our potion was brewed correctly. My scalp began to itch, but quickly ceased. I pulled a strand of hair forward, noted it was a brilliant blue, and looked to Snape for his evaluation. He nodded and moved on to the next person. This left me with myself… and my worries. I began to fidget, bouncing my knees and picking at my fingernails.
"What's wrong?" Blaise asked, "you seem tense."
"Nothing," I shrugged, pretending nonchalance. I obviously wasn't a very good actress because Blaise sure seemed to know what was going on.
"You're worried about the antidote," she stated, and I froze. Forcing myself to breathe, I looked at her, a question in my expression. "I know," Blaise said lightly with a quiet chuckle, "Boy, do I know…"
"I don't know what you're talk—" I began, but was interrupted.
"Who are you kidding? I know, Hermione," Blaise whispered, a mischievous grin on her face.
"How?" I demanded, destroying any hope of feigning innocence. My face paled as my eyes widened. Blaise blanched, standing up. She shuffled backward, but her foot caught on the stool's leg. She landed on her backside; the frightened expression on her face matched my own… all but her eyes. Her eyes sparkled excitedly – the black orbs reflecting the candles' flames that lit the room.
"Miss Zambini!" Snape's cold voice came from across the classroom. "What is go—"
"Don't feel well. I don't feel well," Blaise's breathing sped up until she was nearly panting.
"Miss Nicholson, take her to the Hospital Wing," Snape demanded, moving to his next victim. He didn't seem to care very much about Blaise – or me (although how was he supposed to know I was the cause of Blaise's panic?)
I stepped toward Blaise, but she recoiled, bumping into the desk behind her and nearly knocking the cauldron that was stationed there over. I took another step forward, trying to grab Blaise's arm.
"Don't touch me!" she shouted, and every eye in the room returned to us. My face flushed – the change in complexion drastic.
"Come on, Blaise," I pleaded, trying to calm her down and get her out of the room.
"Stay away from me," she warned, "Get out of here. Go back to where you came from, Hermione."
A collective gasp echoed in the damp dungeon, and no one moved. Water leaked through the cracks in the brick walls and dripped down the wall, producing the only sound in the entire room.
"Ladies, follow me," Snape spat, a lethal anger underlying the calm, indifferent tone of his voice. Wordlessly, I moved around Blaise, avoiding eye contact by keeping my head down. I heard the Slytherin's footsteps behind me, echoing on the cold, brick floor in the eerie silence.
*
I stepped into the Great Hall and, though not immediately, all conversation ceased. It was amazing how fast news traveled – it couldn't have been more than four hours since I had left Potions. I felt everyone's eyes boring into me – digging through my flesh until it found my mind, my soul. It seemed that my every thought was being projected across the room for all to read. I felt so naked – and it scared me.
A commotion near the Slytherin table caught my attention, and I turned just in time to see Blaise rushing toward me. She grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the Great Hall. I hadn't had a chance to speak with Blaise since her conversation with Dumbledore (right after the incident in Potions).
"Blaise," I began, but she interrupted.
"I'm going to tell you something that I didn't tell Dumbledore," she paused, smirking, "and neither can you. Who knows what they would do to you if they found out."
"What do you mean? Maybe you shouldn't tell me," I said, although I was curious as to what she would say. What could she mean by "who knows what they would do"? She didn't speak, but led me out the doors of Hogwarts and onto the grounds. The brisk November air nipped at my arms and the wind rustled the bottom of my robe.
"No, you need to know," Blaise replied, her ebony eyes sweeping the deserted grounds for listeners. After Blaise had decided our conversation would not be overheard, she turned back to me.
"I knew you were Hermione from the day you 'transferred,'" she said, curling her fingers in the air on the last word.
I could only stare blankly ahead as I processed her words. If she had known from the beginning, why did she look so shocked when I accidentally confirmed it?
As if reading my mind, Blaise said, "I'm a good lil' actress, aren't I? Snape completely fell for it, and, if I'm right, so did Dumbledore. Way too trusting, that fool is," Blaise shook her head then looked up at me – her dark eyes glinting maliciously, "but I'm not going to tell him that."
Her laughter echoed across the barren landscape and a hawk, soaring high above the Forbidden Forest, cried out; the only sound in the silent autumn air. A gust of wind whipped my hair, strands of it catching on my chapped lips. It tasted bitter – a remnant of the potion. Though Dumbledore had returned my hair to its 'natural' blonde color, I hadn't had time to wash it, so the potion had been absorbed by my hair.
"How did you know?" I managed to say, still trying to comprehend everything. Things seemed to get more confusing each day.
"That I cannot tell you," Blaise replied, "at least, not yet. I know who brought you back. Just as you were led here, I was led to you. I'm here to bring you home."
"Home? What are you talking about?" I could feel my eyes filling with tears – I don't even know why. Everything was just so strange, so scary – I felt it surrounding me; it was suffocating me. I didn't understand anything – and I hated that feeling. It left me so vulnerable and insecure.
"You know you don't belong here. Everything is too good and pure," Blaise grimaced, but grinned at her next words, "You're tainted; the spell that brought you back left you tainted. And that little seed of darkness is growing; he can feel it. Just let it go. Why are you holding back?"
"What are you talking about?" I asked, completely dumbfounded. She shook her head condescendingly.
"Really now, Hermione. I thought you were more clever than this," she sighed, "I suppose I'll have to spell it out for you. See, when he brought you back –" she began, but I interrupted.
"Who is he? Who brought me back?"
"You have to ask? I understand that you've been through a lot, but come on. The Hermione I remember would have figured all this out by now," she tsk-tsk'd.
Her reference to the old Hermione stung, and I realized that was what she wanted. She wanted me to get angry.
"Your plan won't work," I replied defiantly. I was well aware of the fact I sounded like a child beginning the "yes huh/nuh uh" game.
"First, it's not my plan. Second, it'll work," she said confidently. Her path creating a circle, she prowled around me like a cat. Her muscles were tense; her limbs always poised to strike.
"You have his blood running through your veins," Blaise said, stepping close and snatching my wrist in her cold hand. She trailed a finger along the veins, and a chill run up my spine, "this darkness – it's a part of you now. Don't fight it," she shrugged. "It's useless. You'll feel so much better if you let it flow," she grinned, and with a laugh, the disturbed girl skipped into the castle. But as she stepped through the doorway, she turned around, "Oh yah," she paused, "don't let yourself disappear." With that cryptic farewell, she pulled the heavy oak door shut. My eyes followed her, while my brain tried to sort everything. How could that have been the same girl – the same opinionated, but still reserved girl I sat by in Potions?
I didn't move for quite awhile, and soon my fingers grew numb. The wind stung my cheeks, and I began to sniffle, but still I didn't move. I stood before the doors of Hogwarts, overlooking the vast grounds. The leaves of the trees in the Forbidden Forest had turned a luscious red blending beautifully with the vibrant orange, and even a smidgen of yellow could be found.
"Herm- I mean, Harley?" A hand landed on my shoulder, catching me by surprise. I ripped myself from the attacker's grip and spun around, only to realize I wasn't being attacked.
"Jeez, what's your problem?" Ron snapped, clearly stung by my response to his touch. For some reason, I just didn't care. I was sick of Ron, of Harry, of everyone. I was sick of them always comparing me to their beloved Hermione. I was sick of them constantly wishing I was Hermione. If I had taken a moment to rationalize, I would have realized no one was comparing me to Hermione. If anything, maybe Ron had wished for Hermione's return, but other than that – it was all in my imagination. Harry, the students, the professors, they didn't even know I was Hermione (sort of). Unfortunately, the fear, anger, and annoyance that had been building inside of me since I first returned finally reached its limit.
"Will you just leave me alone?!" I exploded. "I'm so sick of this! I'm not Hermione!" I screamed and raced into the castle.
Somehow, I managed to find my way back to the Bird's Nest. I went directly to the sixth year girl's dormitory, snapping at anyone who tried to stall me. I locked the door and collapsed onto my bed, burying my head in a pillow. Salty tears ran down my cheeks, and my body wracked with sobs. What was wrong with me? Why was this happening to me? I didn't do anything wrong. Blaise can't be right – it just wasn't possible. I was not evil.
But look what you just did to Ron… A raspy voice argued. Hermione would never have done that. Shut up. Stop thinking, I ordered myself – but the voice continued, You will never be as good as Hermione – she was innocent and pure. Why are you trying to fight it? You say you don't want to be Hermione, say that you aren't her,, but deep down, you know you wish you could be her. Everyone loved her. She was smart and pretty. She had friends and had a brilliant future ahead of her. You will never be like her. You can't. Why do you try to be? No one will ever love you like they loved Hermione. Not Ron, not Harry – not Dumbledore or McGonagall. They don't care about you.
"Only I care about you," the words were no longer in my head. I bolted upright, spinning toward the voice. A man stood shrouded by shadows in one corner of the room, and from my window I could see the sun as it descended toward the horizon from its place in the daytime sky. I opened my mouth to speak, but hesitated when the door rattled.