Fallen Saint

Written By: Logical Nonsense

Chapter: Seven – "No Greater Love"

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

Author's Note: I had so much trouble writing this chapter! I got stuck and just took a breather (ok, a very LONG breather). But then when I picked it up again, I had no idea where to go! I rewrote it about three times! That is why it took so long. But here you go… hope you enjoy.

*

Greater love has no one than this,

that he lay down his life for his friends.

John 15:13

*

When I opened my eyes, I was shocked to find my surroundings were beautiful. I had imagined a dark dungeon or somewhere in the woods; I hadn't expected to see this. Blaise stood to my right, watching my eyes roam around the room. It was a gorgeous room; more beautifully decorated than anywhere I had ever been. Perhaps, even more stunning than Hogwarts. The carpet alone was probably worth more than everything I owned. It was an ancient, time-honored texture, soft and plush, and an enchanting peacock green that was repeated throughout the entire room.

"I've got to get back to Hogwarts," Blaise interrupted my inspection of the room, and I glanced over at her. She was smiling, but, for once, it didn't seem mean or mischievous. Her smile almost seemed sad. I could only guess why she would be sad – Voldemort would obviously be pleased with her, if I were what he wanted.

I nodded and couldn't help returning her smile – not a full smile, just an "it's OK" smile. For a moment I could read the shock on her face, but it was quickly replaced by an indifferent façade.

"This is your room. You have everything you will need and expect a visit from your house elf sometime tonight or tomorrow. Someone will be along to take you to dinner, so be sure to clean yourself up," Blaise said in a cold, almost angry voice. Her gaze met mine, if only for a second, before she tore her eyes away and shut the door.

I took a minute to wonder about Blaise's behavior, but nothing profound or even interesting came of that. I still didn't understand her one bit. Sighing, I returned to my examination of the room.

The walls were split in two with the bottom half made of an elegant, golden oak. Above the oak, the walls were painted the same comely green as the carpet. A queen sized bed rested with the headboard against the northern wall; the headboard matched the oak walls, as did all the wood in the room. The comforter was the same, dark green as the carpet, but an embroidered border of graceful snakes was stitched in silver. If I looked at the border in just the right light, the snakes seemed to move.

By now, through obvious deduction, I had recognized the room, maybe the entire mansion, (Castle? House? Lair? What to call it?) was decorated according to Slytherin House emblems. My heart ached, remembering the Houses – Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and… Gryffindor. That word alone created a sorrow in the pit of my stomach, eating me up inside. Everything seemed to remind me of Hogwarts, which in turn brought to mind Ron. I missed him already, and the possibility (or probability) I would never see him again hurt too much to bear. My eyes filled with tears, but I fought them back, determined not to cry. I needed to stay strong.

Taking a deep breath, I stood up and walked to the bedside table nearest to me. On it lay a single, red rose – a gift, it seemed. I picked it up and winced as a thorn stabbed my finger.

"Ouch!"

"Are you OK?" Ron asked, stepping close and grabbing my hand. It tingled in his grip, and I felt a pleasant wave of dizziness wash over me.

"Yes, I just cut myself," I mumbled, hoping he wouldn't let go. He kept his eyes trained on the injured finger where a small puddle of blood had seeped from the cut.

"I should've taken the thorns off," he said, and I could hear his guilt for my small wound. My heart melted. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I didn't even think of it."

I smiled at his obvious concern for my welfare, even if it was only a superficial cut. He looked up and, at my expression, asked, "What?"

I shook my head, "My finger is fine, Ron." I suddenly felt shy, but managed to say, "Thanks for the – you know…"

"It was the least I could do for—"

My eyes snapped open, and my breath came in short, ragged gasps. That had to have been a flashback, I concluded. I'm remembering, I realized and was surprised to find myself excited. The brief panic that had seized me before was gone, replaced by a yearning to remember. I wanted to remember everything – the good and the bad. I wanted to remember Ron and Harry, Remus and Sirius. I wanted to remember my parents and the Weasley family. I wanted to be able to envision Harry's first Quidditch match and recall how pretty I felt at the Yule Ball (Ron had told me most of these things). Though I know what happened (from Ron), I wished I could close my eyes and relive it. Replay it in my mind. I wanted to remember.

I couldn't imagine what had brought this sudden change in me. Only a few weeks ago I was terrified of Hermione's return. Now, I could hardly wait.

"…she's in you somewhere…" Harry's words floated through my mind. Had I finally accepted the fact that I was Hermione? I didn't feel the pressure to be Hermione, now that I knew Harry thought of me as Hermione – a confused Hermione, but Hermione nonetheless. And if Harry could see Hermione in me, maybe everyone else could, too. And if they loved Hermione, which they obviously did, did that mean they loved me, too? A warm rush swept through my body at the thought.

I'm going to get back to them, I silently declared. It might take forever, but someday… I would go home. Yes – home. Home to Hogwarts… to Harry, Ron, and my family… to friends and professors. Someday.

But until then, I was stuck here. I might as well get used to it. I walked around the bed to the western wall where I had a beautiful view of the grounds from a large bay window. I sat on the predictably green cushion, and pushed my face against the glass. From the forest growing just beyond the wrought iron fence, I was able to correctly assume my room was in the back of the mansion. An enormous garden took up most of the yard, and a man-made pond with a beautiful bridge sat in the far-left corner. It was growing dark, probably nearing seven o'clock. Had anyone at Hogwarts noticed I was gone? I wondered, but pushed the thought away. It was too painful to think of Hogwarts.

A giant wardrobe was pushed against the wall, next to the window. I ran my fingers along the smooth wood as I passed it. I turned around to face the door. Just to the right of it was an antique, oak desk with a matching chair. A jar of ink was placed next to a small cup filled with quills, and a single sheet of parchment lay underneath a heavy, silver paperweight in the shape of a snake.

I longed to write a letter to Hogwarts, for everyone to read, but I suppressed the urge. I had no way to send it, anyway. I turned my attention to the woven rugs hanging on the gray, stone walls, softening the appearance of my new home. No, I decided, I would not call it home. Living quarters. Temporary living quarters.

A fire sprung to life in the fireplace on the southern wall, crackling and hissing. It warmed the room, but I still felt cold – and empty.

To the right of the fireplace there was another door. I crossed the room, noting how little sound was made by my footsteps on the carpet, and pushed open the door. Lit by a candle-filled chandelier, the bathroom was just as extravagant as the bedroom. A large, white marble tub with silver knobs was filled to the brim with water. I dipped my hand in, surprised to find it hot, and looked at all the different knobs. Each had a different jewel set into the handle, and I was reminded of the prefects' bathroom.

What? Prefects' bathroom? My eyes widened. I was remembering! I couldn't hold back the delighted giggle that slipped through my lips and echoed through the room.

Smiling despite my situation, I continued my inspection of the room, finding towels in an ornate linen closet and soap, toothpaste, and other such stuff in drawers beneath the marble sink. An elaborate painting of a landscape with a strong yet lovely castle hung over the tub, and in the mirror, seemingly embedded into the wall above the sink, I saw my reflection. I realized why Blaise had suggested I 'freshen up' before supper. My hair was a mess, and, regardless of my grin, I looked depressed. My eyes were red and puffy, and my face was blotchy. Still, nothing a bath couldn't fix.

It was dark by the time I left the bathroom and walked to the wardrobe, assuming they had provided me with clothing. I was surprised to see a large selection of robes of all colors. Maroon, navy blue, dark green, black… Next to the robes I found two cloaks: black and dark gray. Brown and black shoes were lined up on the floor of the wardrobe, and I pulled a pair out. They fit perfectly.

It seemed as if 'they', whoever they were – probably Voldemort – had prepared for my arrival. As I looked at each article, I realized everything was my size. There were socks in the drawers, as well as underwear. Everything was obviously expensive with the name of a French-sounding shop embroidered with gold thread on the tag. I continued to rummage through everything, unaware of the fact that I stood dripping wet wearing only a bathrobe.

A knock on the door startled me, and I nearly dropped a drawer of the jewelry box, that had been built right into the wardrobe, to the floor.

"Yes?" I called out, unsure of what to say. A muffled voice answered, but I wasn't able to make out the words. I stepped closer to the door, and asked the boy (it was obviously a male voice) to repeat whatever he had said.

"I'm supposed to escort you to dinner," he said. "Hurry up, will you?"

"Um, I'll only be a minute," I called back, ripping clothes from hangers. Maroon? No… Blue? Maybe… Black? Too dark… Yes, blue… Blue is good. I grabbed my underthings and quickly slipped into them, then pulled the navy blue robe over my head while mentally choosing a pair of black ankle boots. I looked in the mirror, shocked to find Hermione staring back at me. The spell had… vanished. I had dripping wet, brown hair again, and Hermione's sharp, straight teeth shone bright when I smiled.

"Hurry up!" The boy shouted from the hallway, and I stepped back from the mirror reluctantly. I pulled on the boots and opened the door.

"Come on," he said, oddly cheerful, and started down the hallway. I hurried to catch up with him, and though I'm positive he could hear my hurried footsteps, he made no effort to slow. Luckily, he hadn't gone too far before I reached his side.

"Where are we going?" I asked meekly. I know he could hear the fear in my voice, and I hated myself for it, but I was terrified. He stopped and turned to face me.

"Why are you afraid?"

I looked at him, confusion evident on my face. Why wouldn't I be afraid? I was trapped in some unknown castle with people I don't know and can't trust… I could be walking to my grave and not even know it.

"Now, I know this will take some getting used to, but really, it's all for the best. Lord Voldemort has great plans for the wizarding world," he said, patting my arm in an, I assume, encouraging manner.

I stared at him in disbelief, "Do you really believe that? Have they got you so brainwashed you don't even see the idiocy of what your saying?"

He looked taken aback, as if no one had ever questioned him. It seemed as if he had never had even a glimpse of the world outside. He had been bred and raised as a servant to the Dark arts and whoever chose to be lord over them. He had been fed lies disguised as enlightened truth.

"Voldemort is a murderer. A murderer. Do you not see that? And don't give me that mudblood sanctification crap. He's killed just as many purebloods as he has muggles. He's a monster, a murdering, cowardly monster. He chose the easy way rather than take the harder but ultimately right way. Yes, his family life was horrible, but that is absolutely no excuse for the beast he has become and---"

"I'm glad to hear that's how you feel about me," a silky voice sounded from behind me.

I watched, terrified, as my escort dropped to one knee, face near the floor, in a bow, and I slowly turned around. What I saw didn't match the description Harry had given, but nonetheless, it was obviously Voldemort. I was surprised to see he looked quite a bit like Harry…

"I only wish I would have known sooner, or I wouldn't have taken all the trouble to resurrect you and then get you here," he continued to speak in a smooth voice. He never raised it nor showed a modicum of emotion. He didn't even draw his wand as he slowly prowled around me in a circle.

I was frozen; I had to force myself to breathe. In, out. In, out. This surely wasn't the Voldemort Harry had seen. He must have cast some kind of glamour or taken some sort of restorative… he had done something, that was for sure. No longer was Voldemort the hideous, red eyed, snake of a man, but instead, in his place, stood a handsome, dark man in his late thirties. I wondered idly if Harry would look like that in another twenty years.

"Are you listening?" He hissed, finally letting go of the tight hold he had over his emotions. I was brought back from my thoughts, but the brief sojourn had given me time to gather my courage. I realized I wasn't afraid of him. I had already died once after all, and though my life was short, I had surely lived it to its fullest. I had people I loved whom I would miss dearly, but… I had already done this. I had already died. I wasn't afraid of it anymore.

"You caught me, actually. I wasn't listening. I was thinking about your defeat. When they finally catch you – or kill you – you're going to have nothing to show from this life, except pain and regret. No one will mourn your death, no one will miss you. In fact, there will probably be parties. Each year, your defeat will be celebrated. Everyone will remember your reign, and the terror you inflicted upon the world, but no one will admire you nor care about what made you this way. They will pass you off as the monster you are, and no one will ever doubt it. You'll go down in history books as the Dark Lord," I stressed the words sarcastically and continued on in my foolhardy rant. "But that's all the reward you will get for this. What have you accomplished?"

His face was white with withheld rage, but I just didn't care. The line had been crossed, and there was no going back now.

"I should kill you for that," he seethed, pulling his wand from inside the folds of the billowing black robes, but I interrupted before he could utter a word.

"Take the easy way out again? Hmm? That's all you ever do. You hear something you don't like, so you kill 'em. Good thinking. Really, I applaud your logic. Sooner or later, you'll be the only wizard left in the world, right? Kill all the people that oppose you or disappoint you, and there will be no one left. Why not? Because we're all human. We all make mistakes. Even you do. And don't you deny it – Harry Potter is living proof of it. You should have known the protective power behind Lily's sacrifice, but you overlooked it – you made a mistake. And it cost you your reign, and now, no matter how hard you fight, you're going to lose. We're prepared for you," I went on and on. In the back of my mind, I knew that this was suicide. But like I said, the line had been crossed. I finished my raving and took a breath, waiting for the inevitable Killing Curse to end my life. But it never came.

Shouts from the first floor caught Voldemort's attention. It sounded as if a battle had begun beneath them, and the noise grew louder and louder. I ran to the balcony and looked over, amazed to see aurors pouring into the large foyer from the doors, which appeared to have been blasted open. Death Eaters flooded out of the surrounding rooms, meeting the aurors in a vicious battle of curses. Spells that had missed their mark slammed into the walls, shaking the foundation of the manor.

Without another word, Voldemort retreated down the hallway. I wondered if he had gone to hide out or to join the fray. Either way, he was gone, and I was free to escape. Casting a single glance at my escort, who stared at me in awe, I sprinted in the opposite direction.

I was above most of the ruckus, but I could see the aurors dispersing themselves through the mansion. They left behind trails of dead, or possibly stunned, Death Eaters. I decided it would be best to return to my room and wait for the battle to end, rather than run the chance of being mistaken as the enemy. I managed to find my room and ducked inside, locking the door behind me. I sat upon the bed nervously, listening for commotion outside my door. I could hear curses hitting the walls, jolting the structure of the building. I wondered how long it would hold up and prayed the battle would be over before the old building gave in. I held back a gasp when as the doorknob slowly turned, only to be inhibited by the lock. I suddenly remembered a situation much like the one I was in now.

My eyes snapped open at the sound. The rattle of the lock, the squeak of the door's rusted hinges. Someone was inside. I bolted upright, my heart pounding. Who could be coming home now? My eyes darted to the digital clock beside my bed on the nightstand. 3:47. The numbers glowed an ominous red. The floor creaked as the intruders moved through the house. The air crackled, and my breathing grew ragged and scared. I could feel the magic. This was no cat burglar.

Outside, the wind howled, and rain pounded against my window like little darts. The streetlight shone eerie orange. I heard the footsteps draw closer, until I sensed they were directly below me on the first floor. Muffled voices floated through the floorboards, sinister and foreboding.

I was startled from the flashback by voices outside the door, so similar to the ones I had heard over a year ago…

"Parents first," I heard a gruff whisper outside my door. The footsteps faded down the hall – toward my parent's room. What should I do? Try to save them? I didn't stand a chance against a grown wizard, yet alone more than one. I could flee… try to save my own life. But even I saw the cowardice of that plan, yet what else could I do? I was a sitting duck, just staying there in my room.

I would try to make a run for it, I decided. If I could get to the street, I could call the Knight Bus. They would have a way to contact Aurors. Maybe, it wouldn't be too late to save my parents. But whom was I trying to kid? There was no chance… still, I had to try something- anything.

My heart was pounding as these memories flooded back, but I managed to hear the words over my hammering heart. "It's locked, should we break in?"

A pause, and then, "No, this building's coming down. We better go. If anyone is in here, they'll be buried in the rubble."

My breath quickened, I had to get out of here. Nervously, I waited for the voices to fade away before jumping off my bed and tearing down the hallway. The floor shook with every footfall, and I could hear the creaks as the roof rolled and shifted. I had only minutes…

I froze as a scream pierced the heavy, quiet air. My mom. A wave of nausea washed over me, but I forced myself to step into the hallway as the screaming continued. I couldn't just do nothing. In an act of foolish chivalry, I turned around and raced to my parents' room. Four hooded wizards had surrounded my parents' bed, and a fifth held the wand that was administering the Cruciatus curse to my mother, who writhed on the floor in unimaginable pain.

""STOP IT!" I yelled and tore out of the room, stumbling down the stairs as the Death Eaters followed closely behind. Curses flew past me, and one finally hit the center of my back. Pain shot outward, followed by a numbing sensation.

Tears were streaming down my face by now, obscuring my vision. I had no idea where I was going, but I just kept running. The mansion seemed desert of conscious beings.

"Hey! You!"

I didn't turn around, afraid it was a Death Eater, afraid it was an Auror. Either one was a threat. The Auror's wouldn't recognize me, and if they did, they would surely kill me. Hermione Granger died last year.

"Stop!!"

I tripped over the carpet, my knees slamming into the hardwood floor. A rough hand gripped my shoulder, pushing me onto my back. Four of the five Death Eaters had followed me, it seemed, and a green flash upstairs told me the fifth was on his way.

I opened my eyes, staring into the face of a war-weathered Auror.

"Let me do the honors," a silky voice flowed from the mouth of the tallest. His hood cloaked all but his mouth in shadows, and as he reached for my arm with his left hand, the corners of his mouth turned up in a familiar smirk. I had seen that expression before, but for the life of me, I couldn't remember where.

He sank his long nails into my wrist, drawing blood. I yelped, but the intense pain that followed a clear spoken curse silenced me. Tears poured from my eyes from the pain, and it hurt to breathe.

"I'm sure Potter will love our present," the wizard laughed, a harsh, cold laugh. I didn't even see the other wizard raising his wand, nor did I hear the utterance of the Killing Curse. With a green flash, my world went dark.

*

"He's in there," Harry gestured to the farthest bed in the room. I whispered my thanks, unable to speak any louder. It was over. I was Hermione, and I was home.

"Harry," I turned around, just as he was stepping out the door. He paused and turned his ear to me, and I tried to find the words to express how I was feeling. I opened my mouth, saying nothing yet so much at the same time. He nodded, finding heartfelt words in my silence.

I watched him leave, not turning back again, before taking that long walk down the aisle of the infirmary. Ron had never seemed so far away before. I took a deep breath and pulled the curtain back. He lay in bed; his freckles dark on his milky white skin. I fought back a sob. I hadn't realized how much I missed him, nor how much I needed him. I collapsed into the chair beside his bed, wrapping my warm hands around his own cold ones. His eyes fluttered but remained shut. In my mind, I ran through everything that I had planned to say to him. It had to be good; it was goodbye.

"Ronald Weasley," I began, letting his name roll off my tongue. The last time I had called him that, I was teasing him about his Potion's marks. A tear rolled down my cheek unhindered. "I remember the first time we met. You were incorrigible, and I was a know-it-all. And look how we ended up… the way I feel about you— it-it's new. I've never felt this way about anyone in my entire life before, and now… now you're leaving me. Payback, huh? Revenge for me leaving you?" I laughed bitterly, "No, I know you wouldn't do that… I--," I stumbled over the words, "I love you."

I waited for some kind of reaction—anything at all—yet none came. "I was hoping you would wake up when I said that. You'd wake up, and we would all live happily ever after." Rage about the unfairness of all this boiled inside me. "I hate this. Why are you leaving me? Why don't you just wake up? Wake up and come home! I did." Despair overwhelmed the anger, and a new flood of tears poured down my face. Soon, the tears trickled to a stop, and I was left feeling hollow and numb.

"I love you, Ron. I've loved you since I was thirteen years old. I'm just sorry I never had the chance to tell you," I whispered regretfully. I felt there was nothing more to say, when really there was so much more I could say. But I didn't have forever, and each minute was precious. I leaned over slowly, laying my lips on his for a moment. A tear slid off my face and splashed onto his cheek, but he didn't even twitch. I stood up, brushing my lips over his hand, before slipping my hand from his. I was just about to leave, when I noticed my familiar writing on a piece of parchment on his nightstand. I picked it up quietly, opening it and reading the words I had wrote what seemed so long ago. It had been opened, I noted.

Dear Ron,

I'm sure you think I've abandoned you – again. I'm so sorry. You can't understand right now, but maybe someday you will—I did what I had to do. You must know how much I care about you, how I would never leave you unless I had to… I'm not saying any of this right, I know. I'm so sorry. Move on, though. Don't mourn over me. I want you to live your life – live it for me, ok? Please don't let my sacrifice be in vain. I know this must not make sense, but… oh well, I've tried.

Don't hold any of this against Harry. Don't blame him. It's not his fault. It's mine. It's all mine. Someday, we will be together again. Maybe you will understand. But until then, just live. Live like I haven't, ok? I'm sorry that his makes no sense… I'm sorry for so much.

Love always, your friend,

Hermione

I rolled the parchment, recasting the privacy spell, and laid it on the desk. I turned my back to his bed and stepped from behind the curtain. The sun was just rising over the horizon, casting a warm glow in the white, sterilized Hospital Wing. It was a new day- the first day of my new life.