Remnants of Life

Disclaimer: The Characters aren't mine, only the Plot. Characters are from the mind of J.K. Rowling.

Rating: PG-13

===Note===

More angsty goodness. This chapter was inspired by the movie Gone With the Wind, and you'll see why. =)

Chapter 6: The Echo of Your Voice

They slept in the astronomy tower that night. It seemed pointless to Hermione to attempt to pick their way back downstairs. This is what she told the others anyways; privately she just did not wish to see how ghastly the damage actually was.

The survivors huddled together against the wall in an effort to gain some warmth and comfort. When she realized there was none to be had however, Hermione separated herself from the group and settled beside the window. She sat with her arms wrapped around her legs and rocked back and forth trying to calm her thudding heartbeat.

Once all tears were drained from her, Hermione closed her eyes and fought off the scene playing over and over in her mind. Her efforts were fruitless however, because in the void darkness she still pictured Malfoy flying backwards into the wall. She shuddered unconsciously when the memory revived itself and turned to glance at the spot he had landed. With the moonlight shining across the floor, she saw a dark drop of blood, and remembered how it trailed down his face.

Save what I can. His voice wouldn't stop taunting her. Hermione wondered how the statement had become a practical chant in her head.

Save what I can. What did he mean by those words? Nothing could be saved from this hell.

Her rocking became more forceful as his voice slowly pushed the limits of her sanity. She heard it repeating over and over until she became frantic. Hermione didn't notice how tightly she was clutching her own arms. She didn't feel the pain until she looked down and saw the red scratches her nails had made.

Quickly, she released her hold and let out a shuddering breathe. She looked over at the others to see if anyone noticed. To her relief, she saw that everyone was asleep. Hermione held her gaze for a moment, taking in the scene. They all looked so innocent in their slumber. Despite their dirty faces and scratched limbs, they resembled normal children at peace. If Hermione had not known better, she would have believed that to be true.

She turned back to the window and leaned her head against the glass. It felt cool and soothing against her skin. Closing her eyes she imagined it was his touch. She pictured his slim fingers brushing a lock of her hair from her face like he did before. The fantasy settled her nerves and transitioned her into unconsciousness.

Peace was at last achieved as she dozed off. Dreams danced in her head but were not clouded with death and destruction as she had assumed. Instead they were consumed with images of him. She saw his face clearly in her sleep and he smiled down at her to banish her sorrows. She imagined his touch bringing her relief as he held her.

The image from her dream twisted suddenly until she found herself alone in a dark corridor. She became chilled and shivered unconsciously. She heard herself cry out for help and watch tensely as he appeared again at the end of the hall. His face was ghostly pale and he offered her his hand once he was near. She reached out to take it and screamed unexpectedly. She withdrew her hand quickly when she noticed there was blood dripping from his fingertips.

==========

It was her own unconscious scream which woke her. Hermione's eyes were open in an instant and she panted for breathe, feeling as if she was suffocating. Quickly, she drew her arm over her face to block out the sunlight. She heard the waking murmurs of the others and squinted in their direction. She watched them yawn and untangle their limbs for a moment before turning back to inspect the room.

Pieces of wood from the shattered door littered the floor. Dust coated the stones and everyone's robes. She looked down at her own and found them torn. She wondered how her sleeve became ripped.

Sighing, Hermione pushed herself up using the windowsill for support. She picked her way over the splinters hoping she wouldn't stumble. Upon reaching the door, she heard her name called.

"Hermione? Where are you going?" The voice was hesitant. She turned to find the boy who had spoken to her the night before. She had forgotten his name.

"To see the damage." She replied before leaving the room.

Her steps were cautious as she descended the stairs. Her hand trailed along the wall to guide her down. Reaching the floor at last, she saw the castle bathed in sunlight. She would have considered it beautiful, if it wasn't for the bodies.

The first she passed was one she remembered. It was the girl from the night before. Hermione recalled how she was hit just upon reaching the stairway. There was another lying a few yards away. She didn't pause to examine it.

Walking in silence, Hermione made her way down the corridor which could hardly be considered forbidding at the moment. The dead were scarce on this level, and widespread. After seeing a few however, she began turning away whenever she neared a body.

Death hung in the air thickly and caused her head to spin. Her breathing quickened and Hermione stumbled into the wall. Resting her fragile frame against the cool stone for a moment, she attempted to calm herself.

There were no other survivors, she realized. The lower levels were most likely empty of life. Hogwarts was defeated; she only wondered how it could have happened so quickly. It was odd really; it took evil years to rise and a night to conquer. Hermione let out a strangled laugh and felt relieved that no one was around to hear it.

Her pace was steady as she made her way down toward the floor below. The progress was slow however due to the obstacles in her way. Whenever she neared a body, Hermione lowered her eyes and refused to look at all costs. At times, the dead became an obstruction and she had to press herself against the wall and edge past to avoid contact. It was difficult, but the challenge kept her mind off the devastation and her feeling sane.

The third floor appeared the same as the fourth, and Hermione had to convince herself that she had made any progress at all. Wandering down the hall, she continued her routine of avoiding bodies and pretending it wasn't real. If she squinted into the sunlight, she realized the glare blinded her from the destruction.

She stopped when her foot hit something solid. Deciding it was too hard to be human, Hermione looked down to find a stone head broken of a statue. She gazed at it in wonder for a moment before noticing the entryway behind it.

The door to the Teacher's lounge was off its hinges. The wood leaned against the wall and Hermione had to push it aside to squeeze into the narrow entrance. She hadn't seen any of her professors since the night of Dumbledore's announcement. She wondered if they were still alive.

Briefly, anger flickered behind her eyes. What had happened to the promised safety? Where were their protectors when the battle arrived? No, she thought bitterly, it wasn't even a battle; it was a slaughter.

She didn't really expect to find anyone in the room. At most, perhaps she would discover only another dead body. But there was someone there and the sight caused her to gasp.

Professor McGonagall sat still as a statue at the center of the floorspace. Her hands were clasp together in her lap and all color seemed to have been drained from her face. Her back was rigidly straight and her eyes stared blankly at the space in front of her.

Hermione wondered why the professor didn't acknowledge her presence. It frightened her slightly to see the strict, responsible woman resemble an empty vase. The hollow look in her eyes was startling, and she feared her mind was irreversibly damaged.

"Professor?" She began hesitantly. "Professor, are you all right?"

Hermione waited for a response but received nothing. She took a few tentative steps forward until she was standing directly before the shell of a woman. She tried again to find some sign of life

"Where's Professor Dumbledore?" She asked quietly, not really expecting an answer.

"Dead." McGonagall muttered under her breathe.

Hermione jumped at the voice. Startled, it took a moment before the response made sense in her mind. She felt the cold dread of the previous night rise in her chest as she accepted this new information.

"What happened?" She asked, uncertain if the answer would be more than she could bear.

There was a pause as the Professor released a shuddering breathe. Her eyes were focused not on Hermione, but on the space between them. She hardly blinked as she stared ahead at nothing.

"He tried to hold the main entryway." McGonagall gave an odd sort of chuckle before continuing. The sound chilled Hermione. "Can you imagine it? He tried to hold the door by himself." She didn't seem to be speaking to anyone in particular anymore. Her hands began shaking in her lap. "We told him it was useless. We begged him to retreat." She stopped abruptly and turned her head away toward the window.

"Professor..." Hermione wanted to shake the woman and bring her out of this disturbing state. She wanted to ask her what was the matter with her, but held her tongue. What happened to the strong witch she was familiar with?

Professor McGonagall turned her head sharply at the sound. Her gaze rose to Hermione's face and she seemed to really see her at last.

"Miss Granger." Her expression was that of surprise. "You're alive."

Hermione nodded slowly, afraid of startling the woman. She wasn't certain what was wrong with her.

"Well, Miss Granger, I'm afraid we must close the school." Her voice became business like. Her lack of emotion frightened Hermione. Some unseen damage had been inflicted on this woman. That much was obvious.

Unsure what to say, she responded in the most ordinary way she could manage. "Yes, I see. I'm sorry to hear that." Her voice came out strangled despite her efforts. She hoped it went unnoticed.

McGonagall stood suddenly and walked briskly to the doorway. She turned her head back before exiting. "I need to go contact the Ministry. You wait here."

The command seemed almost natural. If not for the detached way she was handling the situation, Hermione might have believed the woman was unaffected. The thought caused her hands to tremble. There was something the matter with her professor, and she feared it couldn't be healed by time.

Shaking her head, she wretched her gaze off the spot the woman had just vacated. Instead of following the order, Hermione poked her head out the door to see McGonagall's retreating back. Once the corridor became empty, she crept from the teachers' lounge and continued on her way down the hall.

So she was going home. Of course Hermione had known there was to be no recovery from this for Hogwarts, but she had never stopped to imagine herself returning back into the muggle world. She wondered briefly if it was possible to resume life as if nothing had occurred. Non magic folk were oblivious to the rising evil and Hermione considered forgetting the school's existence entirely. She could resettle with her family and pretend nothing was the matter. She could repress her memories and find some sort of false contentment.

Yes, she thought desperately, perhaps it was possible. Perhaps she could return to a simple life as a muggle. The idea brought her comfort and with that she smiled to herself in the deserted corridor. She would banish her past and choose a future of oblivious bliss.

===Note===

Hint, cough, foreshadowing cough. Catch it?

Anyways, see where the ending of Gone With the Wind comes into play? No worries though, this story is hardly over. Please review, I need the support to keep me writing =)

-Captive