Hermione Granger ran down a dark hall. The stonewalls were dripping with a
dark substance that Hermione was afraid to touch. The wand Hermione held
high above her provided little light and was no help. She winced and ducked
as a few bats flew past her screeching.
"Harry?" she called.
She continued walking slowly, fear resting in her chest. The only sound was the slight pitter-patter of her feet against the damp floor, and her ragged breathing. Something crunched beneath her feet. She stooped to see what it was, and gasped when she saw the remnants of a magic wand, much like her own. Harry's wand. She picked up the pieced carefully as if they represented a broken Harry. She slipped them delicately into the pocket of her long robes. She paused as a high pitched cackle echoed through the empty tunnel.
"Ron?" she yelled into the darkness that lay ahead of her.
A dark voice whispered many things that echoed and bounced off the walls, audible only as gibberish. Hermione glanced all around, twisting her long thin body, trying recklessly to find where the sound was coming from. Hermione felt her heart beating in her head as she broke out into a run through the eerie corridor.
"Harry, Ron?" she yelled, coming to a bend in the tunnel, "Where are you?"
The high-pitched cackle filled her mind and Hermione clutched at her ears, closing her eyes in pain. She stumbled around the corner paralysed by the sound. The sight that awaited her was mortifying. Harry, her best friend, was lying on the floor, his head propped up against the wall, his black hair messily arranged, his hands clutched into fists at his side.
"Harry?" she gasped running towards him, her fear gone and only the obsession of making sure he was okay left in her mind.
His cold green eyes stared up at her and her breath caught in her throat.
"Oh Harry," she whispered, tears falling down her face as she touched his colourless, frigid cheek.
"You're dead," she sobbed.
She stood up shivering as an unusual coldness swept around her.
"Why?" she screamed at the evil cackle she knew was coming from the shadows.
Only her voice echoing distantly answered back.
An exasperated moan pulled Hermione's eyes further down the corridor. Even in the dim light she couldn't miss the bright red hair and husky physique of Ron Weasley. She climbed over Harry. Ron was still alive. She scrambled down the tunnel so fast she tripped over her own feet and fell against the oozing wall. She let out a scream of frustration.
"Ron!" she cried out pulling her self from the wall and falling beside him.
She felt her heart clench as she stared down at Ron lying in a mangled position. Her throat tightened over a sob as she watched dark blood trickle out of his mouth and down his pale chin. She watched him move slowly, so slow it seemed he was mechanical. He reached up, pressing his cold hand against her face, caressing her cheek softly with his thumb.
"Her – mi – one," he coughed.
"Ron!" Hermione sobbed, placing one of her own hands over his, pressing his hand hard against her cheek.
She let the coldness of him sink into her skin,
"You're alive."
Ron shook his head placidly, his deep brown eye clouding over,
"Tell mum," he winced in pain, "tell mum I love her,"
"Ron," Hermione smiled through her tears, "You can tell her yourself, you're going to get out of here, I know you! You'll be fine!" she whispered running her one hand through his silky red hair, the other still pushing against his on her cheek.
His thumb stopped caressing her cheek, his eyes began to droop, and his breathing became ragged.
"Ron!" she pleaded.
"I love you," he whispered, "I love you..."
And then with a weak smile, his face slumped to one side, and his chest stalled.
"NOO!" Hermione screamed sitting up in her bed.
She pushed a lock of her brown hair away from her sweaty face, and wrung her white blanket between her hands. The dream had seemed so real, so vivid. Her two best friends had died and left her alone. She shivered despite the warm late July breeze that was blowing in from her open window. She speculated that her mother probably came in earlier that morning and opened it, to air out Hermione's room. Hermione groaned and fell back down into the comfort of her pillows. Her parents were always thinking of her welfare, and although she knew she was luckier then some, like Harry, they got really annoying. She closed her eyes, counting, ticking the seconds off her fingers, waiting for someone, her mother or father, to come bursting into her bedroom, toothbrush still in their mouth, making sure that she was okay. Three..two..one...
"Hermione!" he father cried, bursting into her room, a towel still wrapped around his head.
"You're mother and I were just getting read for work when we heard you scream, is everything okay?"
He didn't wait for a response, but rushed over and sat on her bed. He reached down feeling her head.
"You're all sweaty, are you okay? We could stay home? Call a doctor?" he suggested frantically.
"I am fine Daddy," she muttered, rolling her eyes, "Just another dream."
"You've been having so many nightmares lately Hermione, is there something bothering you? Something you're not telling us?" he asked looking very serious despite the towel,
"You know you can always talk to your mother or myself, even though we aren't like you, we will still understand."
"Daddy, I am fine, honestly, don't worry, everyone I know has been having nightmares lately, even Harry!" Hermione insisted, rolling onto her side.
Her parents usually took things better when she mentioned Harry. They had met him briefly in Diagon Ally more than once, and liked him very well.
"Well then," her father smiled, patting her hair, "If you are sure,"
"I am," she answered.
Her father seemed satisfied as he stood up and kissed his daughter's head.
"Well if you have any problems, you know there is that list of numbers where you can reach us, and Mrs. Lawson next door is always available in emergencies."
"Dad!" Hermione cried.
"See you when I get home Princess," he smiled before leaving.
Hermione hated the fact that her parents seemed to think that she was incapable of anything. Even though she was nearly sixteen they still thought of her as a small child, stepping out to face the trails of the world around her, not knowing how to handle sticky situations. If only they knew all the things she'd done. Of course they knew about her excellent grades, and outstanding exam marks, but they had not clue of thing that she'd done with Harry and Ron. They didn't know she'd been feet away from the Dark Lord (whom they knew nothing about) more than once. They didn't know she'd helped a convicted murderer escape from the Ministry of Magic, or that she'd travelled in time more times than they could say toothpaste in two minutes.
Her parents didn't know about Sirius Black, or the Order of the Phoenix either. They also didn't know that she'd been trying to deal with Sirius's death by herself for the past month. However, they did notice that ever since she'd come home for the holidays, she'd spent more hours in her room than ever before. They noticed she was quieter and thinner and that she'd been having regular nightmares that left her sweaty and screaming in her bed. It was true, since Sirius's death, Hermione had been left stranded, trying to deal with his death. She'd been having dreams about everyone close to her dying since. Dumbledore had forbid her from telling her parents anything that had happened, fearing that they would panic for their daughter's and their world's safety.
Hermione knew he was right, but still she didn't want to talk to Harry about it in letters, it was way too impersonal and he was already having enough trouble dealing with it on his own. Her feelings were way too complicated to write to Ginny or Ron, and so Hermione was left confiding in Viktor Krum. Her parents of course, had no clue about him either, because if they did she knew they wouldn't approve of her seeing a boy so much older than she. Yet Viktor had been there throughout the last month, countless times lending a shoulder for her to cry on and tender lips to kiss away her tears. Hermione had secretly had her house hooked up to the Floo Network, and when her parents had gone away one weekend in early July for a dental conference, she'd invited Viktor over. Once he'd been in her bedroom, he'd been able to aparate there. So now they had secret meetings in her house very late, or very early, depending on how you looked at it. Just thinking about Viktor made Hermione's heart leap. He'd written to her everyday to make sure she was okay, and to keep her posted on his whereabouts. She'd just written him last night to inform him that she would be spending the rest of her holidays at the Burrow.
She was glad she was going there; she needed a break from the muggle world. She needed to be able to talk to other witches and wizards, her own age and older, and especially those who'd been there when she'd fond out that Sirius had died. She needed to talk to Ron. He'd been with her throughout the whole ordeal. When she'd finally became conscious after the deep cut that had wounded her had knocked her out, she'd realized that Ron was sitting there beside her, his head resting wearily on the side of her bed, his hand wrapped tightly around hers. It was Ron who'd sat there with her through the long hours of her hospital stay, reading to her from her favourite books and for once helping her with her homework. She felt something odd when she was around him. She knew that he knew she wasn't all books and cleverness and that there was more to her than the extensive knowledge she possessed. He was one of the very few who'd actually realized that, even if it had taken him quite a long time. Sure they always bickered, and he was rude and insensitive sometimes, but it was times when she needed him the most that Ron really shined through. Ron had done double duty while they'd been back at Hogwarts after the incident at the Department of Mysteries.
Ron had been there for both Harry and Hermione, helping them through the ordeal. She'd never even though about whether or not he was okay with Sirius dying and everything that had happened. She'd never thought to ask. She'd been so insensitive. Not that Ron had a clear record, but she knew he had his heart in the right place. She sighted, as she pulled herself out of bed, now fully awake. She'd be leaving for the Burrow in a fortnight, and was quite excited to see the whole Weasley family, or at least whoever was at home.
"Harry?" she called.
She continued walking slowly, fear resting in her chest. The only sound was the slight pitter-patter of her feet against the damp floor, and her ragged breathing. Something crunched beneath her feet. She stooped to see what it was, and gasped when she saw the remnants of a magic wand, much like her own. Harry's wand. She picked up the pieced carefully as if they represented a broken Harry. She slipped them delicately into the pocket of her long robes. She paused as a high pitched cackle echoed through the empty tunnel.
"Ron?" she yelled into the darkness that lay ahead of her.
A dark voice whispered many things that echoed and bounced off the walls, audible only as gibberish. Hermione glanced all around, twisting her long thin body, trying recklessly to find where the sound was coming from. Hermione felt her heart beating in her head as she broke out into a run through the eerie corridor.
"Harry, Ron?" she yelled, coming to a bend in the tunnel, "Where are you?"
The high-pitched cackle filled her mind and Hermione clutched at her ears, closing her eyes in pain. She stumbled around the corner paralysed by the sound. The sight that awaited her was mortifying. Harry, her best friend, was lying on the floor, his head propped up against the wall, his black hair messily arranged, his hands clutched into fists at his side.
"Harry?" she gasped running towards him, her fear gone and only the obsession of making sure he was okay left in her mind.
His cold green eyes stared up at her and her breath caught in her throat.
"Oh Harry," she whispered, tears falling down her face as she touched his colourless, frigid cheek.
"You're dead," she sobbed.
She stood up shivering as an unusual coldness swept around her.
"Why?" she screamed at the evil cackle she knew was coming from the shadows.
Only her voice echoing distantly answered back.
An exasperated moan pulled Hermione's eyes further down the corridor. Even in the dim light she couldn't miss the bright red hair and husky physique of Ron Weasley. She climbed over Harry. Ron was still alive. She scrambled down the tunnel so fast she tripped over her own feet and fell against the oozing wall. She let out a scream of frustration.
"Ron!" she cried out pulling her self from the wall and falling beside him.
She felt her heart clench as she stared down at Ron lying in a mangled position. Her throat tightened over a sob as she watched dark blood trickle out of his mouth and down his pale chin. She watched him move slowly, so slow it seemed he was mechanical. He reached up, pressing his cold hand against her face, caressing her cheek softly with his thumb.
"Her – mi – one," he coughed.
"Ron!" Hermione sobbed, placing one of her own hands over his, pressing his hand hard against her cheek.
She let the coldness of him sink into her skin,
"You're alive."
Ron shook his head placidly, his deep brown eye clouding over,
"Tell mum," he winced in pain, "tell mum I love her,"
"Ron," Hermione smiled through her tears, "You can tell her yourself, you're going to get out of here, I know you! You'll be fine!" she whispered running her one hand through his silky red hair, the other still pushing against his on her cheek.
His thumb stopped caressing her cheek, his eyes began to droop, and his breathing became ragged.
"Ron!" she pleaded.
"I love you," he whispered, "I love you..."
And then with a weak smile, his face slumped to one side, and his chest stalled.
"NOO!" Hermione screamed sitting up in her bed.
She pushed a lock of her brown hair away from her sweaty face, and wrung her white blanket between her hands. The dream had seemed so real, so vivid. Her two best friends had died and left her alone. She shivered despite the warm late July breeze that was blowing in from her open window. She speculated that her mother probably came in earlier that morning and opened it, to air out Hermione's room. Hermione groaned and fell back down into the comfort of her pillows. Her parents were always thinking of her welfare, and although she knew she was luckier then some, like Harry, they got really annoying. She closed her eyes, counting, ticking the seconds off her fingers, waiting for someone, her mother or father, to come bursting into her bedroom, toothbrush still in their mouth, making sure that she was okay. Three..two..one...
"Hermione!" he father cried, bursting into her room, a towel still wrapped around his head.
"You're mother and I were just getting read for work when we heard you scream, is everything okay?"
He didn't wait for a response, but rushed over and sat on her bed. He reached down feeling her head.
"You're all sweaty, are you okay? We could stay home? Call a doctor?" he suggested frantically.
"I am fine Daddy," she muttered, rolling her eyes, "Just another dream."
"You've been having so many nightmares lately Hermione, is there something bothering you? Something you're not telling us?" he asked looking very serious despite the towel,
"You know you can always talk to your mother or myself, even though we aren't like you, we will still understand."
"Daddy, I am fine, honestly, don't worry, everyone I know has been having nightmares lately, even Harry!" Hermione insisted, rolling onto her side.
Her parents usually took things better when she mentioned Harry. They had met him briefly in Diagon Ally more than once, and liked him very well.
"Well then," her father smiled, patting her hair, "If you are sure,"
"I am," she answered.
Her father seemed satisfied as he stood up and kissed his daughter's head.
"Well if you have any problems, you know there is that list of numbers where you can reach us, and Mrs. Lawson next door is always available in emergencies."
"Dad!" Hermione cried.
"See you when I get home Princess," he smiled before leaving.
Hermione hated the fact that her parents seemed to think that she was incapable of anything. Even though she was nearly sixteen they still thought of her as a small child, stepping out to face the trails of the world around her, not knowing how to handle sticky situations. If only they knew all the things she'd done. Of course they knew about her excellent grades, and outstanding exam marks, but they had not clue of thing that she'd done with Harry and Ron. They didn't know she'd been feet away from the Dark Lord (whom they knew nothing about) more than once. They didn't know she'd helped a convicted murderer escape from the Ministry of Magic, or that she'd travelled in time more times than they could say toothpaste in two minutes.
Her parents didn't know about Sirius Black, or the Order of the Phoenix either. They also didn't know that she'd been trying to deal with Sirius's death by herself for the past month. However, they did notice that ever since she'd come home for the holidays, she'd spent more hours in her room than ever before. They noticed she was quieter and thinner and that she'd been having regular nightmares that left her sweaty and screaming in her bed. It was true, since Sirius's death, Hermione had been left stranded, trying to deal with his death. She'd been having dreams about everyone close to her dying since. Dumbledore had forbid her from telling her parents anything that had happened, fearing that they would panic for their daughter's and their world's safety.
Hermione knew he was right, but still she didn't want to talk to Harry about it in letters, it was way too impersonal and he was already having enough trouble dealing with it on his own. Her feelings were way too complicated to write to Ginny or Ron, and so Hermione was left confiding in Viktor Krum. Her parents of course, had no clue about him either, because if they did she knew they wouldn't approve of her seeing a boy so much older than she. Yet Viktor had been there throughout the last month, countless times lending a shoulder for her to cry on and tender lips to kiss away her tears. Hermione had secretly had her house hooked up to the Floo Network, and when her parents had gone away one weekend in early July for a dental conference, she'd invited Viktor over. Once he'd been in her bedroom, he'd been able to aparate there. So now they had secret meetings in her house very late, or very early, depending on how you looked at it. Just thinking about Viktor made Hermione's heart leap. He'd written to her everyday to make sure she was okay, and to keep her posted on his whereabouts. She'd just written him last night to inform him that she would be spending the rest of her holidays at the Burrow.
She was glad she was going there; she needed a break from the muggle world. She needed to be able to talk to other witches and wizards, her own age and older, and especially those who'd been there when she'd fond out that Sirius had died. She needed to talk to Ron. He'd been with her throughout the whole ordeal. When she'd finally became conscious after the deep cut that had wounded her had knocked her out, she'd realized that Ron was sitting there beside her, his head resting wearily on the side of her bed, his hand wrapped tightly around hers. It was Ron who'd sat there with her through the long hours of her hospital stay, reading to her from her favourite books and for once helping her with her homework. She felt something odd when she was around him. She knew that he knew she wasn't all books and cleverness and that there was more to her than the extensive knowledge she possessed. He was one of the very few who'd actually realized that, even if it had taken him quite a long time. Sure they always bickered, and he was rude and insensitive sometimes, but it was times when she needed him the most that Ron really shined through. Ron had done double duty while they'd been back at Hogwarts after the incident at the Department of Mysteries.
Ron had been there for both Harry and Hermione, helping them through the ordeal. She'd never even though about whether or not he was okay with Sirius dying and everything that had happened. She'd never thought to ask. She'd been so insensitive. Not that Ron had a clear record, but she knew he had his heart in the right place. She sighted, as she pulled herself out of bed, now fully awake. She'd be leaving for the Burrow in a fortnight, and was quite excited to see the whole Weasley family, or at least whoever was at home.