Fallen Saint

Written By: Logical Nonsense

Chapter: Six - "Left Without A Trace"

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: December 4 If you have any questions, comments, criticism (or praise) please leave a review! The next chapter should be up by December 14 --- If you leave an email address, I will email you when I post the next chapter.

I had so much trouble writing this chapter! I rewrote it about three times!!! That is why it took so long, but I've figured out where I'm going so the next chapter shouldn't take nearly as long to write! Please review!

Harry's monologue (eh? Speech? Conversation?) with Harley/Hermione was partly written by rurounix and partly by myself.

*

"I never will forget that look upon your face

How you turned away and left without a trace

But I understand that you did what you had to do

And I thank you"

Title: Here With Me

Artist: Michelle Branch

*

"Harley! Open up!" Lisa hollered from behind the door, shaking the doorknob, "Are you OK?"

My eyes drifted toward the sound, and when I turned back, the figure, cloaked in black, had disappeared. I shook my head, wondering if it was all a dream, and opened the door for Lisa. Relief crossed her face, and she moved into the room, closing the door behind her.
"Are you OK? I heard what happened in Potions," Lisa said, plopping down onto my bed and pulling her feet under her body.
"What did you hear?" I asked, leaning against the door.
"That Blaise had a nervy b and called you 'Hermione.' Why did she pull you out of the Great Hall?" Lisa asked.
"She, uh," I stumbled on my words, trying to form a convincing story, "she just wanted to apologize."
"Hmm," was all Lisa said. I nodded, nibbling my bottom lip. The heavy silence was making me jittery.
"Well, I'm glad you're all right. That would have freaked anyone out," Lisa finished, standing up, "Don't worry about it though. No one thinks bad about you or anything."
Why would they think bad about me? I wanted to ask, but bit my tongue. The less I said the better. I just nodded.

Lisa smiled and asked, "Do you want to hang out with us? Everyone's in the common room."

I declined, saying I had homework to finish, and Lisa nodded and smiled before bounding down the stairs. I swung the door shut, climbed onto my bed, and shut the curtains. I needed time to think; some time to sort everything out.

Starting from the beginning, I ran through the entire day in my head. From the first meeting with Ron to – Ron! Oh crap, I thought suddenly, I'm so stupid!

I leapt off the bed and out the door, running down the stairs. Before I even reached the trap door that led out of the Ravenclaw common room and into the hallway, the door opened. Professor Flitwick climbed up the last few stairs and stood somberly in front of the door.

"Excuse me," he said in his squeaky voice, yet somehow managed to get everyone's attention, "There has been an, er, incident, and Professor Dumbledore would like all students to remain in their common rooms. Prefects, I trust you to enforce his request. I will update you as soon as we know more. Good night."

And with that, he left. Simply climbed out the trapdoor and down the stairs. Conversation exploded in the common room. Everyone seemed to be making guesses regarding Flitwick's cryptic announcement.

I overheard a seventh year hypothesizing, "I bet Potter's gone and done something again. It's always him."

"Come on, Michael. Give him a break; he didn't ask to be famous. It has got to be tough on him – you know, without his parents and all."

"Aw, shut up. You know you just fancy him," 'Michael' replied.

"June fancies who?" A girl, probably another seventh year, interrupted. I chuckled, thinking: They're gossiping about my best friend.

As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I realized I had referred to Harry as 'my best friend.' It was surprising, to say the least. I was almost scared… what if I regained my memory? I would know longer be Harley. I began to panic – I was Harley. If Hermione came back, I would disappear. I would no longer exist.

Breathe, I ordered myself, trying to calm down. Blaise's words from earlier echoed in my mind, "Don't let yourself disappear."

The thought of vanishing pressing upon my mind, I slowly walked back up to the dormitory. It was oddly quiet, although muffled chatter could be heard through the floor. I slid down the wall and wrapped my arms around my knees. Completely worn out, I let my head tip back so it rested against the wall. It had been an amazingly hectic day, and I was losing sight of reality. My brain was in overdrive, and I couldn't think straight. What was going on? I was completely and utterly confused. My body grew heavy as I relaxed, and I could barely keep my eyes open. I surrendered to sleep, curling into a ball on the floor.

*

"Harley," a whisper woke me. I lifted my head from atop my arms, blinking to clear my vision, and looked up. Lupin stood on the other side of Ron's hospital bed.

"Professor?" I mumbled, stifling a yawn and glancing at the clock on the bedside table. It was nearing two in the morning.

"Go back to your dorm, Harley. You can't do anything for him now," Professor Lupin urged.

"No, I can't leave," I tried to explain, "I just… can't. It's hard to explain but…"

Lupin nodded, "I'm going to bed. Madam Pompfrey is in her quarters, but don't wake her unless it's an emergency. She's been searching for an antidote nearly twenty hours a day; she needs sleep."

"OK," I smiled slightly and mumbled a good-bye. Lupin left without another word, and I looked down, watching Ron's chest rise with every breath. The freckles sprinkled across his face seemed too bright on his pale skin.

Nearly a week had passed since that day - the day this all began. Between Ron, Blaise, and the Shadow Man – as I had dubbed the mysterious figure that had visited my room – between them all, I was an absolute wreck that night. But over the last few days, everything settled down surprisingly. Snape had allowed me to switch partners, and it was generally accepted by my fellow students that I had switched because I felt awkward around Blaise – which was true, but not for the reason they assumed. So contact with Blaise was minimal.

The Shadow Man hadn't visited me again, and I can't say I'm not happy about that. There was obviously a connection between the Shadow Man and Blaise, although I knew no more than that. Still, anything that involved Blaise couldn't be good.

Professor Flitwick's announcement had turned out to be not about Harry, but concerning Ron. Something had happened (no one is sure what) between the time I stormed away from Ron and later that night when Ron staggered into the library with a ghostly white complexion and wide, frightened eyes (so witnesses say). The story that had been relayed to Dumbledore consisted of Ron stumbling toward the back of the library, and reaching for a book, he collapsed. Ron was brought to the Hospital Wing by two Hufflepuffs, who say he was mumbling something or another the entire way, but by the time they reached Madam Pompfrey, Ron was out cold. Since then, Ron hadn't improved. He would stir every couple of hours, but since the third of the month when he first fell ill, he hadn't shown any sign of awakening from his comatose state.

"Ron," I whispered, reaching for his hand. His fingers, limp in my hand, felt so cold… they felt dead, but that wasn't possible – I could hear his rattled breathing. No one knew what was wrong with him, but he seemed to get worse every day. He jerked awkwardly, whimpering, before falling back into unconsciousness.

"Ron, I'm so sorry," I mumbled, fighting back the tears. Somehow I knew this had to do with me. Somehow I had caused this.

"How is he?"

I cringed at the voice. Though the question seemed innocent enough, I heard the sneer behind it. I didn't look up; I didn't want to see her face.

"Not getting any better, is he?" She asked. It was obvious she already knew the answer. I looked up, and her dark eyes met my tired, brown ones. Her grin seemed to say: I know something you don't know. I didn't answer her question; I just stared at her.

Finally, she said, "He won't survive."

This I knew. Even if I hadn't accepted it yet, I knew it. It hurt more than words could ever express, but there was nothing I could do. The helpless situation left me angry and scared, but still – there was nothing I could do. Ron was at the mercy of whatever had hurt him.

"I know someone who can heal him."

My eyes snapped up to Blaise's, and a small seed of hope planted itself in the pit of my stomach – just waiting for the chance to bloom. All it needed was a little more…

"I know someone who will heal him," Blaise paused, "for a price."

"And the price?" I asked, breaking my vow of silence. I had to ask, though. I had to know. If there was anything I could do to save Ron, I would do it.

"You," she answered simply. "All he wants is you. If you agree to those terms, Ron is going to live. If you don't… well, it's only a matter of time."

I didn't say anything. Was I willing to give up my life for Ron's? Yes. I already knew the answer, but I couldn't make myself accept. What if this wasn't the only way out? What if there was another cure?

"Take as much time as you want to decide," Blaise told me, "but be careful… Ron won't be around forever."

With that, Blaise turned and walked out of the Hospital Wing, just as Harry ran in. He looked at me, seeming to ask: What was she doing here? I shrugged, unsure of what to tell him.

"How's Ron?" Harry leaned his broom against the wall. His hair was all over the place, and his face was flushed.

"Quidditch practice?" I asked, and he nodded. He took a seat on the opposite side of the bed and spoke.

"Hi Ron," he said, "It's me – Harry. I just got in from Quidditch practice. Everyone misses you – they want their keeper back."

I watched Harry talk to his best friend, a heavy sadness weighing down on me. He spoke of Quidditch, of the Cannon's win on Wednesday… Harry talked about the other Gryffindors, of the family and how worried they were about Ron. He told Ron about all the classes he was missing, gave Ron messages from various teachers and students. He told Ron jokes that he had heard, and filled him in on how many points Slytherin lost in Charms. Finally, the talking ceased, and we sat there in silence – the three of us.

"Har… Hermione, I know." Harry said after a while. I should have been surprised – but, frankly, I was too tired to feel. I was numb – emotionally. Somehow, I managed to ask how he figured it out.

"The Blaise thing – it triggered my memory. Before I went," he paused and shrugged, "well, comatose, Sirius told me you were alive. That was what triggered the, um, episode, actually. I guess I had suppressed it, but when Blaise called you Hermione… I put two and two together."

I was reminded of my conversation with Ron – when I told him I wasn't Hermione. I knew I had to tell Harry, but I was afraid of his reaction – would he reject me? Still, I gathered my courage and opened my mouth to say it, but he stopped me.

"I don't expect you to remember, but I know that she is in you… somewhere," he said, "I'm just…" He seemed to be struggling with his words. "You saved me, Hermione. You saved me again."

I stared into his emerald eyes… Each time he called me that, everything felt so…right. I could almost pretend that I was Hermione, that I was the amazing girl everyone loved.

"Just like the time with the Devil's Snare, the Basilisk, with Sirius in third year and Ron in fourth – you were always there," he continued, letting out a faint laugh.

"I couldn't forgive myself. I took you for granted. All those times you were there, I just assumed you would always be…" his voice cracked. "And then you were gone. Ron was a mess, and even if he never admitted it, he blamed me for a while. I know he doesn't anymore, but he did. Imagine, The Boy Who Lived unable to protect his closest friend."

He smiled grimly, trying to curb the tears gathering in his eyes. "I missed you. You and Ron were… are my best friends. I could always lean on you when things got too hard. You always knew what to do or how to make it better. But when you died, I was alone. Ron and I drifted apart… I thought no one understood how I felt. I know I was wrong – Sirius had to have known what I was going through, but I couldn't see that. I just didn't know what to do," Harry let out a sigh. I could almost see the load lifting from his shoulders. He had carried that burden around for the last year, and finally, it was lessening. Maybe it wasn't completely gone, maybe it would never be, but it wasn't quite as heavy anymore – I could see that. His face looked younger, his eyes more innocent. It was amazing: the change.

He opened his mouth to continue, but was interrupted when the Weasley clan burst into the Hospital Wing. I recognized them all; they had been in the photos Dumbledore had used to try to spark my memory. It hadn't worked, of course, but Ron had told me who was who in the photos.

"Oh Ron!" Mrs. Weasley ran over to Ron, gripping his hand and brushing his hair out of his face. I slipped to the back of the room as the Weasley's huddled around the bed. All eight of them began speaking at once, and the room was filled with voices.

"Excuse me," Dumbledore said, not raising his voice but still somehow managing to get their attention. He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when he saw me. "Harley? What are you doing here?"

"I was just visiting Ron," I replied quietly, and every eye in the room focused on me. I heard Fred and George whispering to each other, but I couldn't decipher the words.

"Who are you?" Mr. Weasley asked, not unkindly.

"She's my friend – mine and Ron's," Harry saved me from answering. I wouldn't have known what to say. Before Mr. Weasley could say anymore, Dumbledore cleared his throat. He opened his mouth, and I cringed. I knew what was coming…

"I'm sorry…"

I didn't need to hear the rest to know Blaise was right. The look on Dumbledore's face made that clear. I knew it, but I couldn't believe it. Things like that don't happen. My friends don't die. Ron Weasley doesn't die. He just can't…

"…completely unheard of…no known cure…"

Mr. Weasley nodded along, listening to the headmaster's explanation, but I saw the tears dripping down the corners of his eyes. Mrs. Weasley was on the floor with Ginny, their shoulders heaving with silent sobs. Fred and George had collapsed onto the adjacent bed, their faces slack and impassive. Bill sat in the chair with his head in his hands, and Charlie was beside Mr. Weasley, his hand resting on the elder Weasley's shoulder giving him silent support.

I stood straight, chin up, staring into space. I saw everything around me, but I didn't see it. I watched Ron, knowing I would never see him again – not alive, anyway. Unaware of everyone else, I walked out of the Hospital Wing. They didn't follow, and for that I was thankful. I knew what I had to do. It was the only way…

I floated toward Ravenclaw tower, and somehow made it to my dormitory without speaking to anyone. I dug through my chest, until I found a clean piece of parchment. I sat down at the shared desk and began my letter. I finished an hour later, after many rewrites, and rolled up the parchment, securing it with a navy blue ribbon. I wrote To Ron Weasley and placed a simple privacy charm on it. Now no one but Ron could open it. Slowly descending the stairs of Ravenclaw Tower, I allowed my eyes to wander over everything – for the last time.

Gathering my courage, I marched to the entrance of the Snake's Den (Slytherin common room), and pounded on the brick wall that hid its entrance. I knew they could hear me, so I kept pounding. Finally, a fifth year Slytherin barged out, wand held high.

"Find Blaise," I demanded. The sound of my own voice shocked me; it was so cold – brutal even. The Slytherin must have heard the edge in my voice, for he didn't argue. He slipped back through the crack in the wall, and a moment later Blaise appeared. She smiled when she saw me.

"So you are here to take me up on that…" Blaise paused, "agreement?"

I didn't say anything; I didn't need to. She knew why I was there.

"All right," she shrugged. "Like I already told you, you come with me. Voldemort has some plan for you or what not, so, in exchange, he will heal Ron," Blaise explained.

"How do I know that he will fulfill his end of the deal? How do I know he won't just let Ron die?" I asked.

"You don't," she said, "but do you really want to take that chance? If you don't come with me, Ron is going to die. And as far as I know, the Dark Lord is true to his word. If he says he will heal Ron, then he will."

She said it with such assurance. How could she expect me to trust him – trust Voldemort? But I had no choice. I couldn't let Ron die, especially if I knew there was a chance that I could save him.

"OK," I said. "I'll go with you."

"Then let's go," she grabbed my hand, and suddenly I was no longer at Hogwarts.