Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, even though I wish I did.
The Rest is Silence
Chapter Two – Ze'ev and Blanloden
Hermione crouched against an old, plush, weather-beaten chair, her hands covering her face as she shook from head to toes. The ring glinted without a helping light source, and the pale, ridged figure before her grimaced. "So you found my ring," it said in a single, sorrowful tone. Hermione dared to peek beyond her outstretched fingers. Among her skills, and probably the most proficient of them, was her talent at observation. Such eyes had she, this sixteen-year-old girl, that she could easily land a job in one of New York's finest detective agencies.
At first glance, Hermione was able to see that the figure had no feet, and was presented in a robe of rags to match the rest of the room's woe-be-gone appearance. The hem was razed, and no feet poked through the tattered material. Hermione's first thought was that this apparent ghost was once a Hogwarts student. This was no matter; she had dealt with Hogwart's ghosts before.
Upon risking another glimpse, however, Hermione noted the long, pointed ears that ensued from the figure's shoulder-length, wavy hair, and the thin metallic band that circled the person's head. A pair of large gray eyes looked down at her past a long face and small, softly pointed nose, even though she could only see one of them in her current position. It was then that she decided to take a closer look at the robes that shrouded the person. They were rimmed in what must've been fanciful material, and the collar wrapped highly around the neck like a silken scarf, branching out below the cheekbones in a web-like design. The sleeves were obviously much longer than their wearer's arms, and they dipped low in the same style as a Chinese Wise Man's would.
All this Hermione took into account, and she wisely determined that the man before her had not been a student at Hogwarts many years ago, but seemed, in perspective, to have come from another world. Brushing a hand against the woolly brown hair that topped her head, Hermione stood up slowly and felt herself gulp. "Y...yes, I have," she responded uncertainly.
To her surprise, the ghost shook his head in agreement and cast a fond glance in the ring's direction. "I suppose you know what that means," he said in a deep, bass voice that was oddly melodic yet mystifying at the same time.
Horrid thoughts filled her mind. What did it mean? That he had to kill her? That she had somehow committed to something uncalled for? "I'm afraid I don't," Hermione replied, her insides turning and her stomach having second thoughts on lunch. She tried, as casually as she could, to slip both hands into her pockets without seeming dangerous. She gripped her wand tightly on one of her sweating hands and balled the other into a fist to make the bulges on each side even.
"You don't, you say?" the ghost asked, his bloodstained eyebrows raised, and Hermione realized why she had been so terrified. The male's sad face was lined with streams of blood, and one of his eyes was gorged out. She shuddered and shook her head, her mouth going dry and refusing to utter the simple word "no".
"Well then," the ghost muttered dryly, glaring enviously at the chair to one side of where he floated then fixing a hard stare upon Hermione again. "I suppose I should tell you." He gestured for her to take a seat and Hermione, being the ever-resourceful thinker, politely refused. Upon her noncompliance the ghost shrugged his veiled shoulders and bowed his head in respect. "I am Ze'ev Nul'nier. Ghost, yes, but an unreleased spirit. That ring, the one stuck on your finger, was once mine. It is actually extremely old, dating back to, let's say, a few thousand years."
Hermione brought her hand out of her pocket and examined the ring on her middle finger. So this piece of jewelry was over a thousand years old. There wasn't a scratch on the polished band of gold, not a single scratch.
"Yes," Ze'ev hung his head slightly. "That majesty of a jewel was once mine." His working eye held a look of longing desperation that even his current status as a ghost could not hide. "It has magical properties, you know," Ze'ev continued, twiddling his thumbs apparently from the bunches of moving fabric on his sleeves. "It enhances your beauty and gives you confidence and bravery where and when you need such help. But," he said in a dark tone. "It gives you restless nights and chaotic dreams... So, beware, young girl, if you are to be Blanloden's Bane and help the heir of Nul'nier to return to the afterlife where the rest of his family courageously journeyed."
Hermione raised a brown brow in perplexity. "Who is Blanloden? And what am I to help you with?" Even Hermione Granger could no resist the tempting offer of a quest. Besides, if the experience made her more beautiful and helped her self-esteem, then what could a few restless nights mean?
Even for a ghost, it was evident that Ze'ev could hide. "He is the guardian of that ring, you shall find out in time. Once you sleep, your quest shall become apparent. You must promise me one thing though, and tell me something of yourself," Ze'ev looked hopefully at her, and Hermione felt her insides swell with pity.
"I'll help in any way I can," she said, casting a reassuring smile in the lonely ghost's direction.
"Come talk to me once in a while. I need company. And who are you, child? What is your name?"
"I am Hermione Granger, and I shall come visit you, worry not old spirit." Another smile broadened her lips and she fingered the ring absentmindedly. Hermione loved an adventure; that was for sure. This one was her own, and she didn't have to share it with anyone... well, maybe Harry. Her cheeks flushed at the thought, and as she turned to go, she realized that she didn't know how to get back to the Gryffindor Tower.
The ghost of Ze'ev seemed to sense her hesitation, and his face, even contorted as it was by the rivers of dried blood that masked it, held a certain compassion to it. "Just follow your instincts," he murmured happily, watching as she nodded her head and left the room by which means she came.
Dark pictures shuffled and armor shimmered in the last light of day. Hermione fingered her ring, thinking fondly about the beautiful gem that was now in her possession. Eventually she made her way back to the Gryffindor Tower, without knowing it, and walked into the common room.
"Hermione! Thank Merlin you're here!" Ron said, standing up excitedly. Harry groaned and looked up from his cramped position. He had been leaning over the table and scribbling nonsense on parchment. Hermione raised an eyebrow and tapped her foot out of habit.
"What is it, Ron?" she asked politely, her tone terse and short. Ron's expression of relief faded slightly, but her persisted.
"You know, history exam tomorrow, and... Well..." he stuttered, looking from side to side nervously. He had practiced this.
"You want me to help you study?" she finished in his place. Ron beamed and walked over to her, giving her a slap on the back. He was much taller than she'd ever be, and Hermione found herself looking up at him with narrowed eyes.
"I knew you'd understand!" Ron's beam brightened as he went back to the table and started to explain what he and Harry needed. Harry's glasses reflected Hermione's hand, and he gave her an odd look.
"Where did you get that ring?" he asked suddenly, interrupting Ron in the middle of his best friend's speech, explaining why they had been slacking off in a glamorous manner. Hermione just considered them lazy and that was that. When Harry asked about her ring, however, Hermione felt a lump grow in her throat. She wanted to tell him, but not with Ron there. Not that she didn't trust Ron, but there was something warning her to only explain this to one person.
"Gift. From my mother," she lied, swallowing her uneasiness and bending back down over her notes once more as Ron started to talk again. But Harry still glanced at the ring from time to time. The blue stone shimmered where there was no light, and Harry didn't like it one bit.
(AN: I'm sorry it took so long! I've been immensely preoccupied.)