Chapter 23
"Here comes Anguis Malfoy, the savior of the wizarding world!" The young blonde boy grinned widely as he whipped around his father's heavy sword. Draco wasn't supposed to be playing with it, because it was one of his father's favorites. The sword once belonged to Anguis Malfoy, an ancient ancestor of their family, and his father kept it hanging on the stone wall of the older wing - the one that was off limits.
But the six-year-old couldn't resist. Ever since he first dared to climb up on the nearby box to reach the sword, he was enchanted. He was holding the exact same sword as his great-great grandfather, the man whom his father always talked about. And even though it was extremely heavy and he could barely lift it off the ground, he loved pretending to be his famous ancestor.
"Hya! Hya!" Shouted Draco as his arms struggled to keep the sword aloft. His head was getting dizzy from spinning around and around, the sword swinging nearly out of control. He was the happiest kid in the world at this moment, in the quiet of the night, because even though he didn't really know what a Mudblood was, he knew that they were bad. His father said so, and he believed everything his father told him. And Anguis helped get rid of the Mudbloods, so he was good. And as long as he held the rusted sword, he pretended that his father was as proud of him as he was of Anguis.
Draco heaved a huge gasp as the sword clanged on the ground, and his arms burned with the pain. He took a few moments to catch his breath and glanced up at the wall, where a huge painting of Anguis Malfoy hung. His scorning face was void of any possible kindness, and yet Draco adored him. He was taught to, and he did.
After he had stared into his ancestor's face long enough, he reached down to lift the sword again. This time, it slipped, and with an exclamation of panic, he grabbed on tight - but accidentally caught the sharp blade.
"Ow!" He screamed in pain as the blade cut into his skin. He let go instinctively, letting the sword clang on the ground as he cradled his right hand. A red slice ran across his palm, bleeding freely and dripping onto father's favorite carpet with soft pats. Tears blinded him and his breaths became shallow and sharp. "Ow," he sobbed, fearfully watching his hand bleeding and staining his pajamas. He was scared of angering his father, not only with playing with the sword but also staining his favorite carpet, but he was even more scared of the pain that shot through his hand.
"M-mother!" The young Draco finally cried out desperately, racing out of the medieval-like stone room. He crashed through the maple carved doors and entered the marble-covered large entrance hallway, and the bright crystal chandelier overhead blinded him. His vision blurred as he screamed again. "Mother!"
Blood was dripping through the hallways as he raced up the grand staircase, searching desperately for his mother as his voice rang out in the mansion. Pain cried within him, and he was almost hyperventilating, his gasps becoming raspier and raspier. In his haste, he fell forward on the staircase, and his head painfully crashed onto the uncarpeted wood. Frantically crying, he kept racing and crying out for his mother, blood forming a bright wet trail behind him.
"Mother!"
As he neared the master bedroom, a sound made him stop in his tracks. It was the sound of his father - yelling, cursing, screaming like a madman. The noise immobilized him, because he thought that maybe father already knew about what he had done, and Draco was fearful of his possible punishment. But, only a few seconds later, something else reached his ears - the sound of his mother whimpering. That scared him even more.
"F-father? Mother!" He nervously yelled down the hallway. They didn't answer him, because his father kept cursing filthy words, muffled by the door that led to their bedroom. A crash of porcelain made Draco jump, and his breath shook. He was scared of going down the hallway and opening the door. He didn't know what was happening, but he was scared to death.
But he had to go in there, he told himself. He had to be brave, like his father always told him. "A real man has no fear," his father once told him. He had to make his parents proud, and he had to act like a very good boy. Thirsting for their approval, his left hand wiped the streaking tears off of his face, and his wide eyes stared in fear at the doorway.
He took a few nervous steps toward the bedroom, horrified of what he might discover. He took several deep breaths to try to calm himself, but he couldn't. His head was spinning with lack of oxygen, and his legs quaked underneath him. As he got closer, he heard something else - sobbing. His mother was crying, and that alone washed away all possibility of Draco remaining brave.
"Damn it, Narcissa! Just shut your bloody mouth!" He heard his father snap viciously, and the sound of a fierce blow made Draco wince. His mother cried out in pain, and something hit the floor. Draco's fear for his mother took over, and he leaned his ear against the shut door.
"Luscious, please - " His mother begged, but another crash of fine china silenced her. Draco almost cried out in fear, but instead held his tongue, and he started to shake. He gazed with blurred blue eyes at the doorknob, trying to will his hand to grasp it, but his body just vibrated out of control.
"You little whore!" His father screeched madly, and his mother cried out again. "How dare you bring another man into this house!"
Draco was confused, but scared all the more by the murderous tone his father used. "We're just friends, Luscious - " his mother choked between her sobs, and the muffled sound of a harsh kick met Draco's ears. "H-he was an old friend, he was just visiting, I didn't know -"
"Bullshit!" His father cut her off, screaming with such a force that Draco's body shivered. "How long have you two been at it? Huh, Narcissa?" A loud slap followed. "Answer me, bitch!"
Again, the sound of his mother's pleading voice sent a shaking wave of nauseousness through Draco. "Luscious, please, you know I only love you -"
"How long have you been whoring around?" His father spat.
"He's just a fr -"
"Bullshit! That's all bloody bullshit!"
This time, Draco got up the courage to cry out through the doorway. "Father? Mother?"
His mother cried out again, and this time it was too much. Draco grabbed the doorknob and pushed the door open, stumbling into the room. When he looked up, his breath caught in his throat and he couldn't breathe. He saw his mother, shaking tears streaking down her pale face, bruised and crumpled on the floor like a rag doll. Her blonde hair mingled in tangles, masking part of her face, and the sounds of her light sobs met Draco's terrified presence. Above her towered his threatening father, his frozen eyes scanning her body with disgust and anger. The murderous look on his face was enough to make Draco freeze in terror - he looked like he was going to kill her.
The moment Draco stumbled into the room, his father hadn't even bothered to look up. His mother's head twisted around and spotted her son, her eyes going wide with surprise and a hint of fear. She stopped crying instantly, swallowing the sobs as they came. Draco forgot the pain in his hand, forgot the blood that was running down onto the expensive carpet.
"Mother?" Draco weakly said, regarding her tear-streaked face with unmatched horror. He glanced up at his father, whose fists were curled into tight balls. Draco did not understand what was going on, and that scared him even more. "Father?"
His father still refused to look at him, and Draco felt a sharp stab of rejection in his stomach that he had never felt before. Looking at his mother was like a slap in the face, because her once beautiful eyes were dull and red and puffy. It took so much of his tiny body's energy just to force the tears back from his eyes, and his mouth hung partly open in fear. He had never seen either of his parents like this.
"Draco," his mother spoke softly, still on the floor but twisted around to look at him, and Draco couldn't stand it any longer. He started to cry, regardless of how much it would displease his father. Tears ran down his face like small rivers, and his body fought to stay standing with his knees threatening to buckle.
Even though his father didn't even glance in his direction, Draco knew he could hear him. "You see what you've done?" His father growled at her. She gazed up at him in submissive fear as voice began to rise with every single poisonous word. "Do you see what you've done to this family, Narcissa?" He ended with a sharp yell, and his foot swung out and collided with his wife's stomach. She gasped in pain, and Draco's blood went cold and froze in his veins.
"Stop it," Draco pleaded quietly between two choking sobs, his body still refusing to obey his commands.
His mother whipped her head up at him and gave him a sympathetic but hard look. "Draco, I want you to leave right now," she whispered airily. Her voice sounded so weak and lifeless that Draco's sobs became louder. Draco did not understand that his mother was trying to protect him, and even if he did, he was too scared. Too scared to back away, but too scared to advance. All he knew was fear.
"Shut up, you whore!" His father cried out, and his hands shot out to grasp the collar of her battered floral nightgown. Draco's heart stopped beating when his mother yelped and her body was lifted off the floor. His father hurled her toward the bed, and her arm bumped one of the bedposts with a disgusting crack, and the rest of her body crumpled on the bed.
"Father!" Draco cried in fear, and his feet stumbled when he tried to go forward. His father rushed to the bed, pinning his mother down with his arms as he gave her a few harsh blows to her head. His mother screamed and tore at his wrists, and Draco ran to his father. "Stop it, father!" He tugged on his father's pant leg, desperately trying to pull him away, but the little six-year-old boy could not make him budge. The blows and screams kept going, his mother struggling underneath his father's powerful grasp. "Please, father! Stop hurting mother!" His sobs were fierce and loud, and he kept tearing at his father, trying to get him away.
This time, his father turned around toward Draco, and a scream lodged in Draco's throat when he saw his father's merciless and half-glazed eyes. His mother cried out for his father to stop, but his father did not heed, and stared at Draco with an unmatched level of anger. "Stay out of this, you brat!"
His father's foot swung viciously, and an earth-shattering blow landed on Draco's tiny stomach. The wind was knocked out of him and he choked helplessly, and seconds later he collided with the ground. Every bone in his body screamed, and his hand throbbed relentlessly. He could hear the blood pounding in his head over his mother's panicked shout.
"Draco!" He heard his mother scream, and Draco suddenly couldn't breathe. It was too painful; he felt like something was standing on top of him. He closed his eyes and his body convulsed with coughs. He felt a slimy liquid coat his tongue and tried to cough and spit it out. Moments later, a warm and soft hand touched his cheek, and without opening his eyes he knew it was his mother.
"Draco, are you alright? Draco!" He felt himself being scooped up into her arms and opened his eyes. Her once beautiful face was stained with tears and bruises and a hint of blood. It scared him so much, and in the comforting warmth of her hold, he threw his tiny arms around her neck and wept. Her hand grasped a bundle of yellow blonde hair on the back of his head, clutching him to her as pain racked his body. He felt like he had been stabbed in the stomach, and the wound on his hand opened to pour crimson blood on her silk nightgown. He wept helplessly in her arms, his head spinning with confusion and pain.
In the midst of all the chaos, his father's subdued voice interrupted Draco's painful thoughts. "Get that boy to bed," his father snapped, but somehow Draco knew that it was over. However that didn't help the slap of rejection he just felt. His father had called him "that boy". A worthless boy, not even worthy of naming.
Draco slowly opened his eyes and peeked over his mother's shoulder at his father. He felt like a hot needle had pierced his skin. There was no trace of love or compassion in his father's eyes, and Draco wanted to cry out to him, to show him that he was sorry for being a bad son and that he wanted to be good. But his voice did not obey him, and all Draco could do was cry.
"Sh," his mother soothed softly, and Draco's sobs quieted a little. She walked out of the room, and before they left, Draco had one last fleeting look at the frozen fixture of his father's unforgiving face. He buried his head in his mother's shoulder, his eyes stinging and his muscles burning.
Within a few moments, as Draco clung to his mother like a newborn baby, he felt himself being gently put down on the familiar softness of his bed. He reluctantly let go of his mother, who reached over to pull covers over him. "Mother," Draco whispered quietly, trying to swallow the ball of vile at the back of his throat, "my hand hurts."
His mother glanced at his hand and gasped in surprise. "How did you get this, Draco?" She cradled his hand with her own, pulling out her wand and muttering a healing spell. Draco was overwhelmed by guilt, but confessed out of the inborn trust he had for his mother.
"I - I was playing with father's sword," Draco explained guiltily, and he felt his hand seal up with his mother's spell. It still throbbed a little, but he told himself that he would act like a good boy and not cry. "The sword slipped . . ." Despite his earlier promise, he was on the verge of tears again. "I'm sorry, mother. I'm sorry I was a bad boy."
A soft kiss planted on his forehead helped to calm him down. "Draco, it's alright. Don't be upset."
"Father hates me," Draco declared officially, and tears squeezed out of the slits of his eyes. "I know he does!"
"Oh, no, honey . . ." His face brightened the slightest bit. He loved it when his mother called him 'honey' instead of 'Draco'. "He doesn't hate you."
But confusion still overwhelmed Draco, and he looked pleadingly at his mother's kind face. "Why did father hit you, mother?"
His mother looked like she was about to cry as well, and his gut twisted violently. "Well," she started hesitantly, trying to chose the best words to explain it to her son, "There really is no reason. Your father is just angry."
The way that his mother said 'your father' made him sound so foreign, like the way divorced parents speak of each other. Draco didn't know what a divorce was, but he recognized the stinging choice of words.
"I want you to promise me something, Draco," his mother told him, her hand sweeping softly on his forehead and gently brushing away stray strands of blonde hair. She looked very serious, but her eyes failed to meet his. Draco was willing to promise anything to help her feel better. "Promise me that you will never do what your father just did. Promise me that you will never hit a woman like that."
Draco nodded immediately, and his lips parted silently. "I promise."
"Father," A nine-year-old Draco whined distastefully, lazily tossing the small book he was reading aside. They were in his father's library, with Draco sprawled on the black leather sofa as his father sitting bent over the work on his desk. Draco stared at his father, memorizing the fine lines on his face. "I'm bored."
"Don't bother me, Draco," his father snapped immediately, his eyes still fixated on a bunch of scrolls in front of him. "I'm busy."
Draco rolled his eyes and sighed exaggeratedly, to emphasize how boring this was. He lay on the sofa in silence, before deciding he may at least make himself comfortable. His head pressed against a pillow and with his hands clasped behind his head and his elbows sticking out.
The silence kept going, interrupted only by the sounds of the pair breathing and the flipping of pages as his father scanned several books. Draco stared at the ceiling, and then tried to count the number of books on the three enormous bookshelves that covered each wall. He failed and drifted off into boredom again, and began thinking about his life in a detached manner. One thing popped up in his mind, a question that had been nagging at him for years, a question that he was desperate to ask.
"Father," Draco began, his eyes still fixed on the bookshelves.
"What?" His father seemed irritated but not unapproachable, so Draco took a deep breath before asking.
"Why did you hit mother?"
His father must've been taken aback by the question, because Draco did not hear a response immediately. When it finally did come, it was calm and collected, with the same tone one would use to discuss Quidditch matches in daily news. "Because, my son, I am a man."
Draco didn't understand the answer, so he craned his head up slightly to gaze at his father. His father was still busily searching through papers, and Draco dared to keep asking.
"What do you mean by that, father?"
His father's hands landed on the desk quietly and he looked upward toward the door. With a roll of his eyes, he finally looked down toward the sofa, and the two pairs of blue orbs locked. "I mean," his father said slowly as if he was talking to a dumb idiot, "the true fact of life. Men are superior."
Draco's eyebrows furrowed, and his head swung back for him to look at the ceiling. His father went back to his work, but Draco wasn't satisfied yet. "How do you know?"
"Goddamnit, Draco, why do you keep asking stupid questions?"
Draco shut his mouth immediately, knowing that going any further would surely unleash his father's violent temper. His eyes still scanned the ceiling, and the nine-year-old pondered his father's words quietly. He did not truly believe them, but his father must be telling the truth. The memory of Draco's promise to his mother resurfaced, and he found himself more confused than ever.
Draco furrowed his eyebrows as he stared at the list of supplies for his first year at Hogwarts. "What sort of junk is this . . ." He twisted his face in disgust, looking at the low-rate brands that seemed so cheap and below him. He was a Malfoy, able to afford the best of everything, and he couldn't believe what the list of supplies demanded. "Well, at least I'll make sure to get a good robe, not some dusty piece of black fabric."
As he poured over the letter, he hunched a little in his desk at a corner of his room. If a person had looked at him right now, they would say he looked like his father did at work. Perhaps it was some subconscious attempt to live up to his father, but at the moment, he pondered when and where he may suggest getting the supplies. No doubt in Diagon Alley, but his father was busy this weekend . . .
A loud crash exploded behind him, and Draco jumped in surprise. His body snapped into a standing position and his chair tumbled backward as he spun around. His wide blue eyes saw the cause: a little house elf, who had been cleaning his room, hunched guiltily next to a pile of broken porcelain that used to be his mother's lamp, a birthday present one year.
"Dobby!" Draco half-breathed and half-snapped in irritation, staring down at the little elf. The house elf flinched visibly upon the mentioning of his name, and his hands trembled.
"D-D-Dobby is ver-ry sorry, M-master Draco," the animated pillow sputtered nervously, his words uneven and shaky.
"That was my mother's lamp, you bastard!" Draco spat viciously at the pile of rags, and Dobby's wide eyes failed to meet Draco's swirling orbs. Draco's hands rolled into tight fists at his sides; he had never hit the elf, but he was too close now. That lamp had been the one given to him on his ninth birthday, and although he had been disappointed, his mother told him that it would be a light in his life, and that one day he would shine as much as that lamp. Being the good but disappointed little boy, he accepted and cherished the present, but now his mother's words were scattered across the floor.
"D-Dobby is very s-sorry, Master D-Draco," the pitiful elf sobbed miserably. "Dobby will c-clean this up r-right away, s-sir, and he will p-punish himself."
Usually Draco would've only screamed at the elf, but this time, it was different. His blood boiled underneath his skin, and his brow furrowed to its fullest extent. All the bottled hatred and rage was visible in his eyes as he glared at the creature with more disgust then ever before.
"You're damn right, you'll be punished, you miserable scum!" Draco yelled at the huddled and trembling creature, and one second later his foot swung toward the elf. His foot and Dobby's skull connected, and the elf yelped helplessly as it fell over. Trembling, the creature did not even have time to get up before Draco kicked him again, this time in the stomach. Dobby's body was sailed across the floor, crashing into a wall and crumpling painfully.
Draco stood there, glaring and panting murderously at the disgusting little creature. It didn't move for a few seconds, but then Dobby groaned as his legs pulled inward in a fetal position.
"Get up," Draco snapped viciously. "Get up and clean up this mess right now or I'll have my father stick your hand in the fireplace again!"
Though it was an inhuman and terrible threat, Draco's heart thumped wildly with rage. He felt like he could do it himself if that thing didn't move right then. But the elf knew the danger of remaining on the floor, so it picked itself up slowly, tears streaking down his face.
"Y-yes, master," the elf choked through quiet sobs, and began to pick up the pieces with his bare hands. Once, a slice cut into his skin from handling them, and Dobby winced and cried harder. Once, the elf looked up at Draco, and though his face was as set with rage as ever, Draco's insides twisted.
The way that creature looked at him, with wide eyes filled with tears of sorrow and regret and begging for approval sparked a familiar memory. The elf's blood-covered hands reminded him of that night, that fateful night when he first witnessed his father's beatings, and later would experience them himself. But Dobby's trembling sobs made a twinge of regret fill Draco, though he tried to push it away.
"I want you to promise me something, Draco. Promise me that you will never do what your father just did. Promise me that you will never hit a woman like that."
"I promise."
Malfoy stood in the shadows of the Slytherin common room, watching the night sky long after he had sent his owl to his father. The tingling of the bright stars far away made him feel small and insignificant, but upon recognizing this unpleasant feeling, he brushed it aside hastily. I am a Malfoy, he told himself firmly. Yet the dark feeling did not disappear, and his gaze dropped to the floor. Outlined only by the shine of the pale moon, he looked like a shadow, with light outlining his shape. It fell in streaks on his blonde hair, and it reflected in his moistened eyes. All of the memories had came flooded back to him after he sent the letter about Aurora.
But there was no time for regret or weakness. Should his father see him now, he would be outraged to see his son in such a weak position. How ironic, he thought to himself, that after demonstrating how strong I am by doing that to Aurora, I've become weaker.
The thought of growing weaker disgusted him, but it did not suppress the guilt that had been planted within him and overtook him like a wild plant, grasping his heart and enveloping his limbs.
Sorry, mother, Malfoy thought sourly, but I was destined to become my father.
"What?" Harry repeated in disbelief, staring at Ron's serious face. This is a joke, this is just some sick joke...Of course she's dead. I saw her die! I practically killed her myself! She couldn't possibly be alive now - not after all of those nightmares, those guilt-ridden thoughts, those images of her blood-covered face flashing through his memory.
"Hermione isn't dead," Ron unknowingly interrupted Harry's thoughts.
Harry's eyebrows furrowed slightly. The usual sincerity in Ron's voice rung clearly in Harry's ears, but this time, tone alone would not convince him.
"I know it sounds crazy, but it's true," Ron insisted, maintaining eye contact as if to prove that he wasn't lying. Taking this opportunity to search Ron's chocolate brown eyes for any vestigial lies, Harry found Ron's unflinching gaze to openly expose his true faith instilled in his words, words that seemed to denounce all the truths Harry had carefully chosen to believe.
Despite all of the doubts that plagued his mind, Harry found a wistful desire to be as blindly trusting as Ron was. He was so sick and tired of living in constant distrust, pain, and fear, and as Ron failed to shy away from his scrutinizing gaze, Harry began to melt into that dream-like state of trust that ignored logic. The warmth of hope invited him like the crackle of a fireplace on a winter day. "She's alive?"
"Well . . . no," came Ron's hesitant but truthful answer, and a damp look of disappointment stretched over Harry's face. The flickering candlelight within him died instantly at the answer, and Harry sunk into his familiar world of doubt. It's just a joke. Hermione's dead. There's nothing more to it. And I was stupid to think that she could be alive. Am I that desperate?
Yes, a separate and quiet voice within him replied, you are that desperate.
His unvoiced disappointment must have thrown his expression into a pool of gloom, because Ron sensed his doubts and leaned forward urgently. "Harry, listen to me. It's really long and hard to explain, but basically, she's this ghost-like thing that can feel pain. And she's in Hogwarts right now, in some secret room somewhere called the Nesskrad Room."
Yet the scars of betrayal from earlier had not healed completely, as Ron's questionable proposal re-opened the throbbing wounds. Harry's gaze, fixated upon the ground beneath, iced over in an anger. How dare he make stupid jokes like that? About her?
Taking a shuddering breath, he forced himself to stay under control, and his voice remained at an eerie monotonous level. "Ron, she's dead. That's it. Quit playing around." Those short and blunt statements slipped through gritted teeth, and Harry didn't dare make eye contact with Ron, for fear of what the redhead would see in his swirling eyes.
"I'm not playing around!" The redhead suddenly cried out without warning, his apparent irritation with Harry's skepticism surfacing through his words. Surprise took Harry into its grasp as his head jerked upward to see Ron's own hardened look.
"She's . . . dead," the two words sang slowly and poisonously from Harry's mouth, for he was sick of this. He had convinced himself that Ron had betrayed him once, and if Ron continued like this, he may consider this a second time.
A frustrated sigh escaped from Ron, once again proving his sincerity. The hardness in his eyes melted upon meeting Harry's, and a desperate look washed over him instead. "Look, I know it's hard to believe. I didn't believe it myself, until Ramdeon convinced me."
One single word in Ron's last sentence made Harry's heart jerk and stop.
"Ramdeon?" A look of utter shock came over Harry as he repeated the word, staring into Ron's brown eyes as the redhead nodded. The fire that had been building within him dissolved into sorrowful understanding. So that's what Ramdeon wanted to tell us! That's why Malfoy told me to go to the source, McGonogall's office - because Ramdeon lives there!
The single threads of the mysterious tapestry, which he had only examined piece by piece, were beginning to weave themselves together in his mind, leaving him in wordless awe at the picture forming before his very eyes.
"Oh my god . . ." the airy words vibrated deep within Harry's throat, barely able to escape through his lips. At that moment, he ceased to doubt his best friend, and replaced that disbelief with a sense of pure pangs of regret and another wave of newfound trust.
"I know," Ron's sympathetic tone voiced an unexpressed acceptance of Harry's apology. In fact, just by the soft nod of his head, Harry felt the regret slowly slipping away. Instead, the shadow of a small smile dared to cross his lips as the words sunk in. Hermione's here . . . she's really here . . .
And by the faint look of joy that spread on Ron's face at the same time, Harry knew that Ron felt the same unmatched happiness that was spreading through him.
"But, Harry," Ron continued, regretfully puncturing the rare bubble of calm contentment that surrounded the pair, "What're we going to do? We can't just leave her there."
No immediate answer came. In fact, the pair sat enveloped in silence for a long time, contemplating their next move. Yet it wasn't an awkward silence; emotions washed over Harry repeatedly like the ebbing tide, her heart fluttering out of control as he attempted to regain his steady breath. The floor faded in the back of his vision, his eyes glazed over in deep thought.
So, if Hermione's really here, then we have to see her . . . to get her out . . . we just have to. But how? We can't do it alone. We don't know where she is. But who does?
Harry's fixated gaze on the floor shattered when a look of determination flooded his countenance. "We have to find Ramdeon," his low voice firmly declared, standing up as his eyes flickered in Ron's direction. "He helped us this far, he can help us get her out. He probably knows where she is . . ."
The thought crossed his mind again, cutting off his verbal train of words.
Hermione.
As her face floated before his vision, a silly grin crawled below his nose, and he could no longer speak for fear of a shaky tone. Ron rose as at that moment, a smile painted on him, though his eyes wandered across Harry's luggage. Wordlessly, Harry knew why his best friend was searching, and his hand reached for his tucked away invisibility cloak. He hoped Ron didn't notice that his hand was shaking slightly from excitement.
"I'll explain more on the way," the redhead whispered urgently as the cloak tossed over himself and his friend, liquefying them into invisibility. Together, and with hearts pumping with anticipation, they set off to find the black cat.
"Where could he be?" A scratched and irritated sigh escaped from Ron after an entire hour of searching through dark hallways for Ramdeon. They had already checked in McGonogall's office, found the Professor herself there, and slipped away before being noticed - though they couldn't avoid a few suspicious glances from her in their vague direction. And though it was true that Ron had gained some respect for Ramdeon, after such a long time waiting impatiently for answers, he was getting nervous.
"I don't know, but we have to keep looking," Harry whispered officially as the pair hunched underneath the silky cloak.
"I still don't like this bloody cloak," Ron informed his partner after a few moments of silence in the dusty darkness. "It's too-"
A quiet, growling voice made Harry's blood run cold in his veins. "Who are you two looking for?"
Frantically whipping around the empty hallway, Harry silently spotted the thing they had been looking for, sitting calmly behind them and staring up with bright shining eyes.
"Ramdeon!" The pair breathed in relief, and Harry wrenched off the cloak to make them visible. He did not question the cat's ability to see them - somehow, animals could detect them better than humans. Perhaps it was a sixth sense.
"Where have you been?" Ron asked the cat, trying to catch his breath after that scare.
"I've been right behind you," Ramdeon looked at them curiously. "I saw you two walking past McGonogall's office, and decided to follow you." He tilted his head to the side. "Who are you looking for?" He repeated.
"You!" Ron cried out frustratedly, and a look of understanding and embarrassment came over the cat.
"Oh." The feline gave a shy grin, exposing his pearly white fangs.
"Where's Hermione?" Harry asked immediately, eager to go after her. Ron stood at his side, just as determined to get answers, but Ron's face had a sympathetic look after knowing so much about Ramdeon, whereas Harry's look was hardened.
"Hermione?" Ramdeon repeated, and then looked over them briefly. His voice lowered to a purring whisper. "You're not just going to let her out of the Nesskrad Room!"
"Why not?" The pair asked at the same time, just as their minds were focused on the same point.
Ramdeon glanced at Ron, saying, "I already told you why. Her soul hasn't adapted to this world. If you let her out now, who knows what will happen!"
"But we have to help her," Harry told Ramdeon firmly. Neither he nor Ron would rest until Hermione had been freed.
Ron added to the conversation in a more polite tone, saying, "Isn't there something we could do?"
A new yet familiar feminine voice added to the conversation, a quiet one that struck the three in its surprise. "Yes, isn't there something?"
Ramdeon's eyes had grown wide as he stared past Harry and Ron, who glanced over their shoulders to see a battered brunette standing behind them.
"Aurora?" The two boys asked in disbelief, before Harry hastily continued from a distance, "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," Aurora sighed, her emerald eyes glazed over in a sad look that wouldn't seem to leave.
Ron was about to inquire as to how Aurora got all of those bruises staining her skin, but Harry beat him by asking, "How did you know about Hermione?"
Aurora sucked in a deep breath and avoided their gazes. "I always knew," she confessed slowly. "They told me once I got here..."
"Wait a minute," Ron interrupted, taking a step toward Aurora. "What's going on between you and Hermione? Aren't you cousins?"
Aurora's orbs glanced upward in shock at the first mentioning, but then became the same subdued sadness as before. "Yes, we're cousins," Aurora admitted in a defeated tone of voice. "But..." she took a deep breath, and began to explain. "I never even heard how Hermione died. All I knew was that she died in this special room, the Nesskrad Room. They sent for me to come here, to Hogwarts, and I had no idea why..."
Harry's eyes widened in recognition. That's what it had said in Aurora's letter. Unaware, Aurora continued.
"When I got here, they told me that I needed to do something. I needed to be her connection to this world, because somehow, she was some sort of spirit that might fade if she didn't have an anchor - so I became the anchor. It's called...blood bondage. It can only work with someone of the same family. But...it's just..." she sighed, staring at the floor as tears prickled her eyes. "It's horrible. Everything that she feels, I feels. She - she's been trying to kill herself," Aurora said quietly. "I - I felt it. I felt the life draining out of me..."
Ron immediately shook his head. Not Hermione. She wouldn't be suicidal. Aurora gave both Harry and Ron a hard look.
"You wouldn't understand. You wouldn't understand what it's like to be half-living, half-dead. It's horrible. It's like being immortal, having to live with all of this pain and suffering..." Tears almost squeezed out of her eyes. "If you don't believe me..."
Her hand reached for her sleeve and lifted it up, exposing a long, red line that ran deep through her arm. "That's the scar that she made on herself," Aurora explained in painful tears of memory, while Harry and Ron looked on in speechless disbelief at the mark.
Ron suddenly looked up at Aurora, remembering the incident in the library where Aurora's arm was sliced out of nowhere. "So that's what happened in the library!"
Aurora nodded painfully, not meeting his eyes as she took a deep breath. "She's been so depressed...I've been so depressed...sh-she wants to die. She doesn't want to live in pain anymore."
But Harry's face was overcome with determination, and he took a bold and firm step forward toward Aurora. "Can't you tell her that she'll be out soon? Comfort her?" Anger boiled within him, thinking that Hermione's cousin had left her in this condition.
"It's not like I'm some sort of prophet," Aurora said quietly. "That's not how it works. It's just like...like we're tied together emotionally. I'm supposed to be helping her get stronger that way. But..."
Before Aurora finished her sentence, both Harry and Ron knew what she was going to say. 'But Malfoy weakened me.'
Aurora would never mention anything about Malfoy; it was too painful for her. Instead, she sighed once more. "I've felt the same way she does lately."
The three others looked at her curiously, but she didn't bother to explain. Instead, she looked up in determination, her tears wiped away and her gaze hardened. "Hermione helped me through tough times. It-it wasn't the first time," Aurora confessed about Malfoy, to the shocked horror of the two boys. The image of Nathaniel flashed through Aurora's head, and she almost shuddered. "There was this guy, and he..." unable to finish the sentence, Aurora rotated the subject toward her cousin. "But Hermione helped me. She was my only friend, and she helped me get through. I-I had been suicidal, so I owe my life to her. That's why..."
She looked up at the three in unshakable determination. "That's why I have to help her."
Realization was dawning on the two boys. That was why Malfoy could get away with teasing her about it, that's why he had asked her to the ball - his father was part of the school, and knew about Hermione and the blood bondage. Therefore, if Aurora had done anything to displease him, Malfoy could expose Aurora as a traitor, someone who didn't admit her connection to Hermione. Then, Malfoy's father, a Death Eater, must have encouraged his son to torture Aurora, just like . . .
Just like Voldemort said that he would torture everyone I cared about, Harry thought in shock. So not only had Malfoy's attack on Aurora hurt her, but also indirectly hurt Hermione. So Hermione must've somehow been affected by Malfoy's attack . . . Harry's head spun with the insane possibilities, and his blood boiled.
Ron was equally angered by Malfoy's intervention, and unknowingly, both boys silently swore to kill Malfoy at the same time.
"Wait a minute," Harry said, turning around and facing Ramdeon. "How come no one told me or Ron about this?"
Ramdeon looked up at the pair of boys seriously. "Because of exactly this reason. They didn't want you two to get involved. You would want to free Hermione as soon as possible, and they thought that it would hurt both you and her."
And that was why Hagrid was so reluctant about telling Harry about Hermione . . . it all made sense!
"They?" Ron meanwhile asked Ramdeon. He thought that the cat would be part of the force trying to keep Hermione away from them.
Ramdeon's slits flickered in Ron's direction. "Yes, 'they'," he said firmly. "I'm not one of them. I know what Hermione's going through, and it's not fair. I think she would be better off out in this world than stuck in that room for who knows how long."
Ron's heart lifted at Ramdeon's declaration. "So, you'll help us?"
The feline gave another one of his pearly smiles. "Count me in," he said happily.
A smile grew on each Ron and Harry's face, and the shadow of happiness came across Aurora's face.
"So, what're we going to do?" Harry asked the cat. "If we can't let her out as a spirit, how can we let her escape?"
Ramdeon looked as if he had been waiting for this question for a long time. "There's only one way," he told them. "Now, you have to listen closely. Hermione's soul needs a body, an empty body in which to reside, shielded from this world before she can enter it."
"Like a cat?" Ron inquired, and Ramdeon shook his small, furry head.
"No, no, no . . . a human body."
Harry frowned in thought. "But how-"
"Me," Aurora stepped forward, and the boys were speechless.
"Yes," Ramdeon agreed quietly. "Aurora and I have been discussing this for a long time, and we both agree that it would be best-"
"Wait," Harry said, turning to Aurora in disbelief. "What do you mean?"
Aurora looked at him in her sad way, and his jaw dropped. Ron stared at Aurora, unable to believe what she was saying.
"You mean-"
"Yes," Aurora said firmly, looking at the two with a set purpose. "I really meant it when I said that I owed my life to Hermione. And I'd do anything to help her. Even give up my life."
Ron shook his head. "No, that's insane-"
Aurora rounded on him in anger. "You don't know what it's like to be in blood bondage! It's horrible! I don't feel like I'm living, Ron," she explained, looking deeply into his eyes. "I feel like I'm half-dead, like Hermione."
As Harry glanced at her eyes, he froze. They were empty, lifeless, and a shiver shot up and down his spine. She really did seem half-dead.
Aurora continued. "I don't care what you two say. I'm going to do it."
"Anyway," Ramdeon tried to draw attention to himself again, "Hermione's soul will be put in Aurora's body. But to do that, we need a powerful wizard . . ."
"Like Dumbledore?" Harry suggested, but Ramdeon shook his head furiously.
"No, Dumbledore must hear nothing about this. He wouldn't let it happen."
Ron looked confused. "Then, who?"
Ramdeon smiled widely. "Me."
That did not help the look of confusion on Ron and Harry's faces, and Ramdeon immediately explained. "There's a potion that you can make. It'll turn me into human form. Once I'm human, I'll use my magic to . . . prepare Aurora," he said carefully, unwilling to say the word 'kill', "And then I'll transport Hermione's soul into Aurora's body. But the catch is, the potion will only keep me in human form for an hour, so we have to be quick. And the other thing is when we enter the room - I must warn you, it will be very painful. Not only will you have to re-live the memory of her death, but since the room has been sealed magically for her soul to develop, a lot of physical pain is involved."
This all sounded so crazy to Harry and Ron, but they were willing to do anything to get Hermione back - and same with Aurora.
"So, when are we going to start the plan?" Harry asked, and Ramdeon gave them a serious look.
"Right now."
Author's Note: Let us all give a round of applause to fanfiction for FINALLY supporting WordPerfect! Yaaaay! Then, let us all throw rotten tomatoes at the author of this fanfic for having left this so long! Boooo!
Yeah, I know it's been a while. Being in high school sucks for that reason. No free time for me, with all of my classes!
But, yeah, I'm still alive and kicking. Here are the answer to the LONG-DELAYED reviews...
Jae: Well, if you had to "wait" for the last chapter, I imagine you had to wait ten times longer for this one! Sorry, dear fan...I feel like crawling under a rock now...
Raine is Crazy: Hahahaha! I do torture thee with my cliff hangers!
Laen: I know this was a bit confusing, but I tried to explain everything this chapter...hope it makes sense now, and if you have any questions, feel free to bang me over the head with them!
Usha88: Yep, they're gonna let Hermione out. So close now, so close!
Noone: I assure you, I'm not going to let this story rot. I know, I left it for a while, but now that my life's back under "moderate" control, I'll be writing more. Thanks for reviewing!
Inylan: Ha, I think Jae might just object to that "scholarly" thing...Oh, I forgot to worship her for introducing this fic to her friend. Whoops. Gotta do that next time. Thanks for the review!
Sister of Hermione: Wow. That was so long ago, I don't even remember it. Yaaay, now you don't have to kill me when I invade your house! I've updated, see, see!
Padfoot: Like I said before, you pick the pairing! And the story's almost over. GASPGASPHORROR!
UPDATE NOW!!: ...Heh, well, right now is kinda close to when you requested, wasn't it? Heheheheh...notreallyyeahIknow...thanks for reviewing!