YES!!!  Now, the fun begins…

And Sapphie, I told you, I dedicated Silent Tears to you.  I still love you…I promise…*random coughing is heard in background*  Whaaat? 

People, I am DESPERATELY in need of reviews here.  I've only got 3…*big puppy dog eyes*  I don't really see the point if only three people have read this.

Silent Torment

Part II:

A Visit to Godric's Hollow

Harry woke suddenly, feeling cold and very sleepy.  His limbs were heavy to lift and he ached all over.  He reached for his blanket, only to find it out of his reach.  Frowning and mumbling sleepily, he rolled over and opened his eyes.  He gasped.

Above him, clouds chased each other back and forth over a depressingly black sky.  He could see no stars, and could not otherwise tell if it was night or day.  Utterly bewildered, he felt around on the surface upon which he had slept to discover that he was lying on cold, hard grass.

His mind raced frantically.  How did he get out here?  Out of habit, Harry reached for the silver chain he always wore around his neck, only to discover, to his horror and dismay, that it had broken, and the orb was gone.

Then, as if his memory was on fast-forward, he remembered everything—the storm—the fire—and Crysania—

He sat up quickly and looked around.  The castle of Hogwarts was nowhere to be seen.

Then suddenly, his scar burst with an acute, extreme pain.  He moaned and covered his face with his hands, running his fingers over his scar—yet to find, with a sharp spasm of panic, that it wasn't there—

"Ah, I see you've finally woken up," a deep, amused voice purred from behind him.  Harry whipped around.

There was Crysania.  She was lounging elegantly upon a long black fainting couch, propped up on an elbow.  But then, everything she did was elegant.  Her white robes pulled up from her long, graceful legs.  Harry noticed, with a queer twist of his stomach, that the bodice of her robes had fallen down rather farther than he cared to see of this strange woman.  Indeed, had he craned his neck properly, he would have been able to see straight down the front.  But, being the gentleman that he was, he resisted the temptation.  She must have noticed that he was straining himself, because she stretched luxuriously, and her robes fell away completely from her legs.  Harry felt himself flush, cursing himself for his wearing his thoughts splayed all over his face, and knew that she was taunting him because of it. 

"Where…why don't I have my scar anymore?" he asked, hoping to take his mind off anything to do with lack of clothing.

Crysania looked at him from under her long black eyelashes, her golden catlike eyes laughing at him.  "I granted your wish," she said simply, lazily examining a glass of blood-red wine that had materialized out of nowhere into her grasp.

Harry goggled at her, spluttering incoherently.

"I—what—I didn't wish for anything!" he finally choked out.

Crysania's lips curled.  "You are so cute," she cooed, with the effect of turning Harry an even brighter red.  "Though do close your mouth.  That is less cute.  There, thank you.  Now, of course you made a wish."  Here, she paused, and took a sip of her red wine.  She sighed, setting it down, where it hovered in mid-air.  "Ahem.  I quote:  'I wish that I had never been born.'  So, I thought you'd like to see how your parents were doing without you."

"My…my parents?" Harry felt dazed.  Too much was happening too fast…

He twisted around again to get a better look at his surroundings.  He was sitting in the middle of a large front lawn of dead, brown grass, where bare trees were scattered here and there.  Behind a low, wrought-iron gate stood a large house.  It was listlessly black, like the sky above it, and its windows were dark and empty.  The whole building had a sad, weary look about it, the roof drooping, the front steps sagging.  It looked very old, almost medieval.  It was hard to believe that anyone actually lived in it.  In front of the house was a small wooden sign that swung in the cold breeze, resembling a tombstone, also black, that read: Godric's Hollow.  At the sight of the sign, he broke into a cold sweat. 

"Well?  Are you going to say hello, or are you just going to sit there gawking with that adorable choir boy face of yours?"

Harry blinked and snapped his mouth shut yet again.  He faltered.  What would he say to two people that didn't know him, especially when he told him he knew them?  Even when he didn't, really…

Before he had made up his mind, he stood up without a backward glance as his legs took him, off their own accord, it seemed, to the gate that wrapped around the derelict house.  The gate swung open with a touch of his hand, and he slowly trudged up the path to the door.  He climbed up the creaking stairs; then he numbly stretched out his hand and rang the doorbell, and waited.

********                                                                            

She was twisting the silver ring she always wore on her left middle finger nervously.  He knew that she only did this when she was undergoing severe pressure or an internal battle.

"Is there something wrong?" he asked her.  She didn't look at him, only continued to twist her ring.  Then she drew in a deep breath.

"Yes.  There's something I need to tell you."  She was still avoiding his gaze.

"What is it?  You can tell me," he said to her, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder.  But she flinched under his touch as if it had been a blow, a slow blush creeping over her already pink cheeks.  She hung her head.

"Ron…I'm pregnant," she said quietly.

There was a stunned silence.  A silence so thick you could have cut through it with a knife.

"You're…you're WHAT?" Ron burst out.

"Hmm?  What is it?" Alex muttered sleepily, jerking awake.  Ron's heartbeat slowed again, and he sucked in a long breath.  It was only a dream…

"Is there something wrong, Ron?" she asked him drowsily, rolling over in his arms so she could see his face.  He looked at her.

"You're not…pregnant, by any chance, are you?" he said lamely, wincing.

"No…" Alex answered, giving him a rather patronizing look.  "I'm only fifteen, Ron.  I wouldn't be able to handle it."

"I suppose not…but…"

"But what?  What did you do, Ron," she said accusingly.

"Me?  I didn't do anything!  I mean, I was dreaming, and…"

"Dreaming?  Of me, I suppose?" said Alex, still suspicious.

"Yes, about you," he returned ironically.  "You were wearing nothing but spandex, and I woke up feeling strangely…"

"Okay, I get the point.  Though I wouldn't put a dream like that past you."  She grinned at him.  Then, as she was feeling rather like teasing Ron, she took hold of one of his hands and caressed it gently.

"I love your hands," she whispered seductively, running her fingers over his palm.

"Oh, and that's all you love about me, is it?" Ron said, feigning hurt feelings.  She only smiled.

"They're just so big and rough and…they have nails bitten down to the quick," she observed.

"Hey, I'm sorry that I can't have great bloody cat claws like you.  Not everyone's perfect," he added.

"Oh, so you're saying that I am?" she asked pleasantly, pulling his hand up and resting it on her cheek.  He let out a soft sigh, running his fingers through her hair.

"Yes."  And he kissed her, the memory of the dream discarded in that instant.  He relaxed even further when her hands slid over his back…

Oh, dear, Hermione thought despairingly.  They're at it again.  She rolled her eyes as the two on the couch came dangerously close to toppling over the edge in their heat, all the while snogging passionately in a way that was probably illegal in Britain, let alone Hogwarts.  

Then, Ron broke off the kiss, breathing unnaturally heavily.  Hermione gritted her teeth as Alex's cooing voice floated across the common room, "What's the matter?  Getting tired up there, big guy?"  As she said it, her eyes flicked toward Hermione.  Alex was sweet, yes, but at times like these, Hermione could only wonder if this was a desperate attempt to make her jealous of what she didn't have.  Oh, she hated her sometimes…

"I'm only just getting started, love," came Ron's reply, causing Hermione to feel slightly nauseous.  She watched—alright, so she was jealous—as Alex sank out of sight among the extremely squashy cushions.  It now looked as though Ron were making love to the couch itself.  The only hint that there was someone underneath him was the two slender hands that made their appearance at frequent intervals.  But even then were they more often than not disappearing beneath his shirt and trousers.

Soon people began throwing wadded up pieces of parchment at them, irritably yelling various things all along the lines to, "Get a room!"  Unfazed, the two coolly ignored them.  Hermione sighed and gathered up her books.  She might as well get to the library before shirts started flying.  And where was Harry?

***********

Harry's heart pounded as he heard footsteps inside the house.  He couldn't move; he stayed frozen on the spot.  Then the doorknob turned.  The door creaked opened.

Through the crack in the door, Harry could see a tall man of his mid-forties with jet-black hair flecked with grey peering cautiously outside, his wand in his hand.  Behind his glasses were large eyes of chocolate brown that held a lost look, as if he had been searching for something for ages, but something that could never be found.  The eyes roved the area in front of him, a suspicious expression contorting his face.  Harry caught his breath.

"Dad?" he whispered.  The man did not look at him, or even acknowledge his presence.  He merely raised an eyebrow.

"Who's there?" James Potter called, the suspicion growing.  He glanced warily around the dead yard.

"Who is it, James?" came a hushed, feminine voice.  A strawberry blonde woman, also in her mid-forties, came to stand next to her husband.   "James?"  James said nothing.  He only opened the door farther, the better to see.

"No one there," he said quietly to his wife.  He glanced down at her. 

"We should go inside.  It isn't safe out here," she whispered to him.  She raised her left hand and rested it on his shoulder.  As her sleeve pulled back, Harry, who was too dumb-founded to speak, glimpsed something on the inner portion of her arm that made his heart contract.

The Dark Mark. 

Her husband hesitated.  Lily pulled on his arm.  "Come James.  I'll make you some tea."  After one last, frantic look outside, James followed his wife back into the house.  The door closed behind them with a snap.

The sharp, abrupt noise brought him back to his senses.  Gazing dazedly around, he walked away and back to Crysania.  Taking one look at his face, she grinned widely and said, in an innocent voice that couldn't hide the oily contempt, "Oh, dear.  It seems that I forgot that they wouldn't be able to hear or see you.  My apologies.  It must've slipped my mind…"

"You…you…" Harry gasped.  "You…set me up…!  You must be some kind of demon…I didn't wish for this…I just wanted—"

"You wanted your parents to be alive.  And they are."

"But they—"

"They are agents of the Dark Lord.  As they would be, had you never been born."

"But…they can't possibly be Death Eaters…"

"Oh, but they are.  You saved them from this fate, in their deaths."

There was a stunned silence, in which Crysania drained her glass of red wine, sighed, and rose from the couch.

"Do you want me to take you back to Hogwarts?" she asked him in vexation.  Harry nodded sullenly.  Crysania's grin widened, and she rose to her feet, the couch vanishing. 

"As you wish," she said, bowing sardonically, and straightened up, raising a hand. 

The house and their surroundings vanished in a swirl of silvery smoke.

********

Harry blinked, trying to clear his vision through the gloom.  There, just beyond the whirling smoke, was Hogwarts.  Relief—warm, glorious relief—washed over him.  Silhouetted against the silvery moonlight, the huge black castle hovered above him on the incline from the grounds.  Forgetting about Crysania, Harry dashed up the sloping lawns, wanting nothing more than to lie down in his warm bed…where everything would be normal again…

Harry didn't notice Crysania's smug, conceited smile.  He didn't notice that Hogwarts did not look like the Hogwarts that he had spent the better part of six years at.  He didn't notice the icy cold over his fevered excitement—

He approached the huge front doors to the castle and frowned.  Two tall, dark hooded figures stood in front of them, guarding the doors, and blocking his path.  As he approached them, they moved together, barring the castle doors.  Harry cleared his throat.

"Um…I need to get into the castle," he said, but it was in a rather weak voice, for the figures, which were undoubtedly Dementors, had lowered their hooded heads in a considerably menacing way. 

"So…do you think you could let me pass?" he suggested timidly.  The Dementors shook their heads.  It would have been rather comical under normal circumstances, but, after seeing his supposedly dead parents and coming back to a home that was guarded unknown to him by twelve-foot-tall soul-sucking hellish minions, his stomach twisted.  His eyes darted downward unwillingly at the grey, rotting hands, and his inexplicable relief dissipated into sickening fear.  He drew a shaking breath.

"I'll just go then, shall I?"  Maybe he would wait outside…someone would see him and come to help him…he backed away, but the Dementors advanced upon him.  He was drowning in cold, a sharp pain wrenching through his chest…but his mother's voice couldn't be heard, it didn't haunt him as it had before….  He reached for his wand, but it wasn't in his pocket….  Unable to comprehend that it was lost, his eyes rolled up into the back of his head, and the last thing he saw were the two tall creatures reaching down to him and pulling him up, leading him inside the castle doors.

*********

Harry groggily opened his eyes.  He felt dazed and bruised and all around sick.  As his surroundings came into clearer focus, he realized that he was in one of the cells in Snape's dungeon.  He sat up, wincing at the soreness in his muscles and peered around the rest of the dungeon.

Heavy manacles hung from the wall, and the air reeked of rotting flesh.  In the manacles hung a weary, ancient skeleton, its jaw broken, bits of cloth still clinging to the yellowed bones.  Mice and rats scurried this way and that.  He recoiled away from the wall as a sick, yellow liquid dripped from the wall, burning a sizzling hole through the stone in its wake.  The whole place was dank, damp, and glowed with a foreboding, greenish light.  This wasn't the Hogwarts Harry had left behind, he soon realised, with a jolt of terror.  Somehow…Crysania had brought him back to the wrong present time!

"Hey…kid."  A whispered voice jerked him from his panicked thoughts.  He sensed movement in the cell across from him, just beyond the shadows.  A boy of about his age was speaking to him, his head bowed, leaning against the wall.  The boy moved closer to Harry, peering out between the bars.  At first Harry didn't recognise him, but then he gasped as the dim light of the oil lamps struck the boy's face.

"Ron?"

*********

*does dramatic dance*  DA NA NA!!!!!   MUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!!!  I knew you'd love that!  Ha, Ron Luver, you're probably gonna kill me now, aren't ya?  Now, isn't that ironic…you were hoping that Alex would be the one tormented, when really, it's Ron!  HA!!!  I kill me.  Anywhoozles (yes, I'm stealing your word), if you didn't notice, I'm attempting to make Alex look really bad, and I think I'm succeeding, how bout you?  *smirk*  I thought I'd have fun with that, because I'm not going to have much of a chance to poke fun at her.  Yes, you're probably staring at the screen, thinking, "Wait a second, she's making fun of herself!"  Err, yeah I realise that, but…hehe…I just couldn't help myself.  So I do have a little evil side, you got a problem with that?  MUHAHAHAHAHAHAA!!!  oO;;; Right, well, it looks like I'm going to have a lot more humour and romance than I anticipated.  The reason why is because I like to switch back and forth between worlds, and I need some extra stuff to take up space.  I know you're all probably getting sick of that R/A thing, but it'll tone down after a while.  Most of the Real World will be in Hermione's POV anyway.  Oh, damn it!  School starts on Tuesday…shit!  That means it's going to take a whole lot longer to get chap 3 out.  Gaah, eighth grade.  What could be any worse?  *grumbles…*  *Evil Glare of Death™ at teachers*  MUHAHAHAHAHA, they don't know what's coming!  Me and Crissy are in the same class, those poor, poor teachers…*smirk*  Well, if I survive the first week of school, then I will be posting more later.  Toodles!  -J