A/N: Italics in the present tense are dreams, italics in the past tense are flashbacks. Generally the flashbacks are dated.
In Dreams
Chapter Eight
The shrill ringing of a telephone wakes Hermione up. She fell asleep as soon as she had entered her room that day; she is on holiday with her parents and lying under a baking sun all day had that strange affect of making her sleepy. The tangy smell of seaweed wafts up her nose, the scent has clung to her shirt from when her father chased her through the water earlier. She loves the beach, loves the feeling of the grainy yet smooth sand, how it has that ability to absorb the sun's heat and expel it onto her skin. The telephone persists in its ringing, taking a quick glance out the window she sees that clouds are gathering and hanging over the hill. With all the hot weather a storm has been predicted, and it appears it is almost here.
"Hello," Hermione says groggily into the receiver.
No answer.
That effectively wakes her up. "Hello... Hello," her voice becomes more anxious than normal. "Hello - Who's there?"
All she can hear is the heavy panting of the person on the other end; it sounds as if they have run for miles.
"Hermione!" the voice shouts.
She holds the receiver away from her ear, the only person she knew to do that was - "Ron?" she asks.
"Quick Hermione quick, he's coming."
"Who Ron, who's coming?"
"Hermione run, run Hermione."
"Who is it Ron?"
The line goes dead, but she continues to call his name desperately. She is enveloped in darkness. Who is coming? Grabbing her wand she hides beneath her desk under a pile of discarded clothes. There is someone outside on the hotel stairs. She hears the creak of the faulty fifth step. It could be any of the hotel guests except the muffled strides have ceased outside her door. The person or people are rattling the faux gold doorknob.
She swallows; this was it.
She can not see the intruder's face but the moonlight picks up something clutched in his or her hand. Hermione stifles a gasp when realisation strikes her. "But your dead!" she whispers in shock, clutching her wand closer to her chest.
The man sniffs the air in an over exaggerated fashion. "Fe fi fo fud, I smell the stench of a Mudblood!"
Hermione takes small shallow breaths, to prevent herself breathing too heavily.
"Where, O! Where is my little girl gone?" the mocking voice continues.
Her stomach turns, that is something her father used to say when she was younger and they played 'Hide and Seek'.
"Come out Sweetheart, Daddy wants to talk to you."
"Stop it... stop it," she whispers to herself. Unknowingly her voice is steadily getting louder.
A smirk crosses the Death Eater's face.
"Well, well I found the little bunny."
He grabs her wrist tightly in his silver grasp, causing tears of pain to form. Pettigrew pulls her roughly from her hiding place and slams her against the wall and winding her.
His hot breath caresses her neck and he whispers against her ear, "I can see why that idiot likes you."
Hermione closes her eyes tightly, "One, two, three wake up. One, two, three wake up."
A mocking voice rings in her ear, "That's not going to help sweetie."
"Stop it... Stop it," she screams. She feels her body hit the ground with a thud. Opening her eyes she notices she is on the floor but away from the sickening man, who is approaching her again.
"Your dead - this isn't real."
"Oh! You'd like that wouldn't you? - If I was dead." His voice is so much stronger than she remembers.
"No I saw..."
"Did you? I remember you running away. You never saw The Kiss."
"No... No... Harry would have told me," her voice is so feeble in comparison.
"Harry!" the man laughs throatily.
She is backing away from the offender, but knows she will soon have nowhere to go. She feels the doorknob prod into her lower back.
"Who do you think let me go?" Peter laughs.
"That's a lie - YOUR DEAD!" she screams with as much conviction she can muster. Her hand snakes around her back to find the handle.
"You're dead!"
She runs out of the room and down the staircase, jumping the last few steps into the empty lobby. Hermione runs through the revolving doors and stops outside what should have been the front of the Madison Hotel, but she is standing in the driveway of her childhood home. She looks down to see she is still dressed in the white skirt and is bare foot. Knowing the attacker is right behind her, she will have to run. It starts to rain, it seems the storm had followed her too.
The uneven, sharp sides of the gravel driveway dig into her unshod feet. Trying to ignore the jabbing pains she heads towards the football pitch at the end of the street. Hermione is alone; all the houses appear to be empty. She hears the crunch of shoes on stone and knows Pettigrew is not far behind.
She quickens her pace and hurdles over the fence of the pitch. She lands awkwardly on her unsupported ankle and winces in pain. She can not dwell on it - she had to keep going.
Hermione's pace is slower but she is still ahead, hobbling along, dragging her bad leg behind her, she heads for a wood in the distance - the tree cover should make it easier to escape.
Suddenly there is a burst of lightning and wind coupled with rain and hail. The storm has arrived in all its splendour!
The rain splatters in the mud around her, she can feel the earth softening beneath her feet, squelching and squeezing through the gaps of her toes.
She is almost there; all she needs to do is cross the football pitch. The rain is hindering her view; heavy drops pelt and sting her face. Her clothing clings to her as she wobbles along, the pain in her feet is becoming too much. She knows the man is closing the distance behind her, he curses as his foot lodges in the liquidating ground.
Hermione cries and collapses on the mud. Her skirt has caught an outstretched bramble, which peeps through and gashes her leg. She lays her head back in the mud, she tries to control her erratic breathing as the rain and hail continues to beat against her muddy complexion.
This is it; the Death Eater will finally do the thing she fears most.
"Given up?" jeers the nasal voice.
No! She can not give in this easily. Her breathing heavy, she crawls along. Loosened stones and twigs scratch her hands and scrape her now bare knees. Her no longer white skirt, trails behind dragging in the mud and soaking in the blood of her feet and legs.
A hand reaches down and picks the girl up by the back of her shirt.
"There's no point in running... or crawling in your case."
Hermione shakes her head no, tears mix with blood; mud and rain run down her frozen cheeks.
The attacker's offending hand brushes back some of the brown curls that have matted to her forehead.
A pleased grin crosses his face.
She falls with a squelch to the ground.
Pettigrew is gone.
Where?
She pulls herself up the best she can. Someone else is there, red hair, tall - he is holding Pettigrew back.
"Hermione run," the voice shouts.
She knows this man; she has known him since she was eleven, where has he come from? "Ron?"
"Go now!" his voice shouts desperately.
"I can't leave you," her feeble tone is carried away on the picking up wind. "Not again."
"Wake up," Ron commands. "It's just a dream - GO NOW, he needs you..."
"Who?"
"Hermione GO!"
Her eyes opened suddenly. She was still breathing heavily and she could feel the moistness of her cheeks. It took a few moments for her to remember where she was. A dream, she hadn't remembered a dream in seven years, why now?
Ron had saved her, again. "He needs you..." ran through her mind. Who needs me? Harry?
'Hermione relax, it was only a dream.'
Crashing sounds from next door carried through the wall.
She held her breath.
Again the sounds of knocked over implements, either breaking or thumping against the carpet, resounded about the room.
She climbed out of bed, her fingers twitching for her wand. Cautiously she headed in the direction of Sirius' bedroom.
The sounds had ceased.
Taking a deep breath, she threw open the door, not knowing what to expected.
Nothing.
No one was there except for the body sleeping in the bed. She looked about her before approaching the slumbering man, releasing a breath she didn't know she was holding. Various items from the bedside locker dotted the carpet. Gingerly reaching out her hand she touched Sirius' face. She pulled back; he was burning up - with a fever.
Hermione cursed to herself, was this a side affect? Or was he allergic to one of the ingredients?
They had been alone in the flat for two weeks - before anything happened.
Hermione washed her cup from breakfast and placed it on the draining board. Sirius hadn't appeared for breakfast, in fact she'd hardly seen the ex-convict in the last two weeks.
Tap... tap.
She shook her head.
Tap... tap.
She looked up; Hedwig was at the kitchen window. Hermione opened the small window above her sink allowing the snowy owl entrance. Removing the owl's burden, she offered him some dry toast; she hadn't touched. Hedwig hooted in thanks and flew off. She opened the owl.
Hermione,
Good news, Snape says the potion can be used now. Remus will drop it over later tonight. I can't make it, Molly has forbidden me... apparently there's too much wedding work to do. I don't get it; it's still four months away. How much planning needs to be done? Minister, groom's robes, wedding dress, and venue - that takes more than four months!
Look I'll see you as soon as I can sneak away.
H.P.
Hermione smirked as she placed the letter on the table. Glancing around the noticeably empty kitchen, she sighed.
"Just a few hours to wait." They had decided it would be best if few people as possible knew about Sirius.
"Help me," a weak voice called out.
"Shh! Sirius it is ok, I'm here," Hermione said placing her hand on his. The dark haired man rolled over to her, but he didn't open his eyes, "hurts" he choked out.
She couldn't give him anything. A pain-relief potion could counter-act the memory potion he had taken and she had no Muggle medication with her. She couldn't be sure either, if it was safe to give him; again unsure of the consequences.
"Hermione... HERMIONE!"
The sudden calling of her name jolted the young witch awake. She had fallen asleep on her bed reading. Pulling herself up and wiping her eyes she walked to the door. As she opened it, the offending voice shouted her name again.
"Plan on waking the dead?" She stifled a yawn.
"I didn't know if you were in," Remus replied smirking.
"It's not a very big flat! So have you got the potion?"
"Yes, come I'll make you some coffee and tell you how it works."
"So, let's see if I've got this straight," Hermione said, taking a sip of her hot drink.
Remus grinned - he knew she didn't need to relate what he'd said, that she got it the first time around, but she still needed to make sure.
"This one," Hermione held up the smallest phial, it was a dirty green colour, "to be taken tonight and then both of those." She indicated to an acid green one and a purple one. "Tomorrow morning on an empty stomach. That it?"
Remus suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, "yes."
"So... should I give it to him tonight then?"
"Yes - I think that'd be best." Remus stood.
"Aren't you staying for dinner?"
"I'm sorry I can't, Tonks already has it made."
"Oh! Well say hello," she forced herself to smile.
If Remus noticed he made no comment other than, "I'll call again in two days time Hermione, goodbye."
He was gone, leaving her alone in the kitchen again.
"P...please," his voice sounded so hoarse.
Her heart broke at his pleading. She cupped his hand in hers and held tightly but gently, "It's OK the pain will be gone soon." She didn't know this. What if it was an allergic reaction?
"H... Herm..." his voice failed.
"Yes it is - I'm here, you'll be ok."
Sirius' eyes fluttered open, but he continued to blink. For a moment he stared at her before pulling his hand forcefully away from hers.
"Who are you?"
Hermione cursed. "Hermione, Sirius it's me."
"Your not Hermione."
"I am"
"Death Eater!" he yelled.
Death Eater? She tried not to smile at the man's confusion. "Did you say Death Eater?"
He was getting increasingly angry, "What did you give me?" he commanded.
"Nothing - you need to sleep." If he didn't stop soon, she'd have no choice but to jinx him.
His eyes narrowed suspiciously at her, "Why can't I remember anything?" Sirius appeared to be attempting to unknot himself from the sheets.
"What are you doing?" she scolded.
"Leaving, you can't keep me here." He answered angrily.
"And how do you propose to do that, if you can't even get out of bed?" she asked grinning.
He looked about to reply when his face paled suddenly. Leaning he vomited over the side of the bed.
No longer annoyed with him, Hermione moved to sit beside him, rubbing her hand over his back, she cooed reassuring words to him. Hermione conjured a glass of cold water; she placed the cool container to his chapped lips.
"Drink some water Sirius."
He allowed some of the water to flow soothingly down his throat. Hermione laid Sirius back onto the bed, swung his legs up and covered him up with his blankets.
"Now get some sleep," she ordered. She caressed her thumb along his forehead, until the man's breathing softened and became steadier.
Ensuring Sirius was asleep; she went to the kitchen to retrieve a bucket of warm water, cloth and some other items to clean the mess. She couldn't leave him alone again in case he had another turn. There was no way of contacting Harry or Remus until tomorrow. So she would need to spend the night in Sirius' room. She dragged an armchair to Sirius' bedside and summoned her blankets from her room. Here she curled up and eventually fell asleep.
He didn't know what time it was, only that a bright light was shining in his eyes. Groaning in a mixture of annoyance and stiffness he rolled over and opened his eyelids. There was a moist cloth by his head, which must, at some point have been on his forehead.
He noticed as well a small hand was gripped to his like a clamp, but at an awkward angle to the way the body was lying on the armchair. Her face was hidden as she was turned into the back of the seat. Releasing her hand he pulled himself out of the bed. His head was throbbing and his mouth felt like cotton wool, what did he drink last night?
The blankets had fallen from the young woman's body; she was shivering. He picked up the discarded sheets and tucked them around her. His touch against her neck woke the girl up.
Leaning up on her elbows and clicking her back into place and mumbled a sleepy, "Hey, you're awake."
He didn't reply.
"Heathcliff," she said her voice more awake.
The man surveyed the young girl on the seat, "Who are you? And who is Heathcliff?"