chapter 50: ALIENATION - burdens in the heart

It was very cold in the dormitories the next morning, so cold that when Hermione, shivering, opened her eyes she realized that it was the cold that had waked her. She also realized something else, or rather, remembered it. They weren't safe. Thinking of this, she turned over in her bed to face the window and curled her knees up to her chest. Outside the sun was up and shining and the sky was a strong, unmarred blue. There was no hint of the strange weather that had set upon them the night before, unless you counted the cold. It invaded the cosy warmth of her bed, seeped into her skin and took hold of her bones, giving her no other choice but to get up. The fire in the common room sounded appealing.

Just as Hermione was sliding her feet into her slippers, she heard a soft sound over the snores and gentle breathing of her dorm mates. It seemed to come from overhead and when she looked up she saw that a fine crack had opened in the plaster ceiling over her bed. As she watched, the sound came again, a subtle hissing, breaking sort of sound, and the crack spread further, snaking its way till it spread over the width of her bed.

Seeing this, Hermione felt something inside go cold and a dark, insidious fear settled in the pit of her stomach. Though her logical self rebelled against it, a part of her sensed that she was seeing the expression of something sinister. Not bothering with her robe, she hurried from the room, telling herself she was just being silly while at the same time unable to resist the impulse to get away from it.

In the common room a few students were up and curled into chairs near the fire, but it was Saturday and breakfast ran late so most were still in bed. Hermione considered her options. She could either follow the other students' examples and curl up on the couch for a while, or she could head down for a solitary breakfast. Discarding both possibilities and acting on impulse, she instead turned and headed up the stairs to the sixth year boys' dormitory.

She hesitated outside the door, unsure of what to do or if knocking would be appropriate. Finally she shrugged and pushed the door open. If she was going to barge in on the boys while they were sleeping, she might as well not bother with niceties. Inside, all were sleeping. The soft sound of breathing and Neville's snores filled the air. Crossing the room, Hermione noted with some measure of gratitude that the curtains around Seamus's bed had been pulled shut. She wasn't sure if she believed the rumors, but wasn't eager to test them either. She also noted that one bed was conspicuously empty, but did her best not to dwell on that. Dean might end up fine soon. At that point they just didn't know.

Reaching Ron's bed, Hermione turned and sat carefully on the edge, doing her best not to wake him. She studied his sleeping face carefully, love for her friend and sadness warring inside of her. He looked peaceful in his sleep, though the impression jarred with the dark purple bruise that spread itself over one eye and the swollen split in his lip.

Hermione felt helpless. Even with what they had learned, what could they do about it? The professors were sure to already be taking precautions. She and Harry could go to the Headmaster with what they knew and strongly suspected about Malfoy, but she had a feeling that Ron would contradict them if they did, and who would Dumbledore believe in that case?

Hermione sighed and smoothed her hand along the blanket at Ron's feet. She just wanted Ron to be safe. She wanted them all to be safe, but Ron anyway was in the clearest danger. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Last year Harry had finally managed to do away with Voldemort and that was supposed to be the end of it, no more fear and dark curses, no more wondering if your friends were going to make it out alive. Hermione felt a tear slide down her cheek and lifted her hand to brush it away. This was doing no one any good. They would find a way to beat it, they always did. The most important thing was not giving up.

She rose from the bed and was about to start for the door when a noise behind her made her turn back. Ron's eyes were still closed, but his face was contorted into a frown and he had thrown his head to the side. As she watched, he cried out softly and bit his lip and Hermione winced to see his teeth go into the already mangled flesh. He was clearly distressed, and Hermione was just approaching him, hand raised, to try to wake him from the dream, when suddenly he gasped and opened his eyes to stare straight up into her face.

Hermione stood frozen for an eternal moment. Her initial start of surprise at Ron's wakening was replaced with shock at what she saw in his eyes. Later she couldn't define it properly, not even to herself, but as she looked into Ron's eyes she saw something completely alien. Usually bright and clear, his eyes had darkened so that they were almost black and looking into them Hermione saw not a shred of recognition. Instead they were filled with a swirl of different emotions, violent anger mixed with a strange combination of terror and lust.

Shaken, Hermione took a step back from this stranger that used to be Ron, feeling fear coil tightly in the pit of her stomach. The look lasted only a second though, and then Ron shuddered, closing his eyes, and when he opened them again they seemed to have cleared and the lines of his face to have smoothed.

"Hermione?" Ron shook his head as though to clear it. "Hermione, what are you doing in here?" His voice was hoarse with sleep and he looked up at her in puzzlement, all traces of whatever had haunted his sleep gone.

br Ron felt like a war was being waged in his dreams. He knew that he was sleeping, but at the same time was powerless to halt the onslaught of imagery and sensation pouring through his mind. In his dreams, he was kneeling once more with a knife in his hand, but this time it wasn't his sister laid out before him, this time it wasn't her flesh under the knife tip; it was the others, his two classmates who had been found, whose wounds he hadn't even seen except in the reflected memories in his friends' eyes. The dreaming images shifted between the two, playing out as though he were the one who had done it, as though he were the one who had reveled in the spilling of their blood.

He fought it, resisting giving in to the sensations, to the feeling of familiarity and connection he felt for the images in the dream. Sometimes he was able to break it, to let his horror and disgust for what happened overwhelm the draw of the vision and cast it aside for a few moments, to be himself for a few moments. When he did the image shifted to darkness rather than moonlight, and the sensation became that of bare skin against his own, of rough teeth and a hot mouth bruising his already swollen lips. In those moments he was able to relive his emotions, to remember again his terror and his passion, to feel alive. But then the coldness would come creeping back, and he'd feel himself becoming detached, forgetting his anger and losing his hold, and then the nightmare would begin again, slowly pressing blade to flesh, and feeling satisfaction as blood welled forth.

He didn't know what woke him, certainly he was unable to wake himself, but of a sudden the visions, both cold and hot, were wrenched away from him and he found himself staring up into a pair of startled brown eyes. The transition was so abrupt that for a moment he couldn't make sense of it. The face before him seemed to be a strange intruder into his visions, out of place and threatening. Then the understanding of wakefulness came over him and he shuddered, trying to cast off the remnant sensations of his dreams. He couldn't discard them completely. He still felt them, lingering as though on the edges of his skin, but when he opened his eyes again he was able to recognize Hermione backing away from him.

"Hermione?" Was he actually awake, or was this some other strange dream? Not that such a dream wouldn't be a welcome change from the visions of before. He shook his head and looked again. "Hermione, what are you doing in here?" She looked almost afraid, but he was still too groggy to process what could possibly be going on.

"I..." Hermione opened and closed her mouth, looking lost. Suddenly her face broke into a worried frown and she rushed forward, kneeling by the side of the bed and putting a hand to his shoulder. "I was...Ron, are you ok? What ha... Are you ok?"

She looked like she was about to burst into tears and Ron reached out an arm to pull her into a hug. "I was just dreaming, Hermione," he soothed. "I'm fine. Are you alright? Did something happen?"

Hermione began to shake and her words came out sounding choked, as well as muffled by his shoulder. "I was worried...But you looked so...I was afraid. I thought..."

Ron patted her shoulder, trying to be comforting, but he was really just very confused. "What did you think, Hermione?"

At this question Hermione drew away. Her head was down as though she was studying her hands, and the fall of her hair hid her face. "I thought..." Hermione startled and stopped speaking as a loud knocking came at the door to the dormitory. Mutters and groans could be heard around the room as the other boys were interrupted from their sleep.

Before Hermione could say anything more, Professor McGonegal, Head of Gryffindor House, strode into the room. She paused upon seeing Hermione kneeling beside Ron's bed but then did little more than raise an eyebrow before turning to Ron. "Mr. Weasley, I'm glad to see you are awake," she said coolly. "I have something I must speak with you about. Please come down to the common room as soon as you've gotten dressed." With that she simply turned and strode from the room, leaving a gaping Ron and Hermione in her wake.

Ron looked at Hermione with confusion, before climbing out of his bed and simply throwing a school robe over what he'd been sleeping in. From what Hermmione saw, he hadn't bothered to change out of his clothes before falling into bed the night before and she wrinkled her nose at the thought of how dirty those clothes must be by now. It was only a minute before the two were out the door and heading toward the common room after McGonogal, a bleary look from Neville the only notice that was given to their departure.

McGonogal, standing by the fire and watched warily by a few nervous-looking, early-rising second years across the room, raised an eyebrow at the prompt appearance of Ron and Hermione. Her cool expression took in the rumpled state of Ron's robes and her lips pinched together as she noticed the blackness around his eye. She refrained from saying anything on these subjects however, only turned to Hermione, who was preparing to include herself in anything the Gryffindor Head of House had to say to Ron. "Miss Granger," she began, her tone soft but firm, "I understand the concern you feel for your friend, but what I have to say is meant only for Mr. Weasley. You would do best to give him some privacy."

"It's okay," Ron cut in before Hermione had a chance to say anything. "She already knows about...everything."

Hermione smiled uncertainly at McGonogal as Ron said this, secretly wondering to herself if it were actually true. It was clear that the prophesy she had told him about the night before had come as a surprise to Ron, but equally clear that there was still something he wasn't telling them. Just how important that something was remained to be seen.

"Does she, then?" McGonogal raised both eyebrows and peered at Ron intently for a moment, looking skeptical. "Well, I must say I am pleased to know that you've finally decided to be open with your friends. Very well. Come with me to my office." With that she turned and strode out the portrait door, not bothering to see that the other two followed.

"Take a seat." McGonagal gestured to two chairs pulled up in front of her desk as she moved around it and seated herself in her own worn, though at the same time straight backed and proper-looking, chair. "Ronald Weasley," she began, "no doubt you have been made aware," here McGonogal glanced at Hermione, "that over the past two nights there have been attacks on two of the students at the school and, though they remain alive, these attacks were very serious. It behooves us to treat whomever, or whatever is responsible for them as a very strong threat to the school." Ron, his face blank, simply nodded so McGonogal continued. "As I'm sure you expect, the teachers at Hogwarts will be taking very serious steps to ensure the safety of the students. We will not be tolerating a another attack. However, all of this will be discussed when the students assemble shortly for breakfast. What I have to say to you is more specific. Am I correct in assuming, Mr. Weasley, that a long term separation of you and Draco Malfoy is not a possibility?"

Ron sat up straighter as he heard this, looking a mixture of concerned, baffled, and fearful. "Of course it's not. Why..."

"As I'm sure you understand," McGonogal cut in, "when parents hear of what has happened, many will demand to have their children sent home. If the Malfoys request that their son return home, you must be prepared to go with him."

"What!" Ron exploded, rising quickly to his feet. "Are you crazy? We can't do..."

"Mr. Weasley." This time McGonogal's voice was laced with iron and Hermione was glad the professor's ire was not directed at her. "Sit down."

Red in the face, Ron sat grudgingly and McGonogal continued. "You understand why this must be. We have already been contacted by Lucius Malfoy. He has informed us in no unclear terms that if this situation is not under control by the end of the day, then he will be arriving this evening to take his son home." Ron's nostrils flared but he refrained from saying anything as of yet. McGonogal looked tired. "I understand your distress, Ronald, but while we will certainly be doing everything we can to end this threat, there is a very real chance that you will just have to resign yourself to this."

The professor looked genuinely sorry and Hermione felt the same. Though she was confused by this turn of events (Lucius Malfoy wanted to remove his son, who was the threat, away from the threat?), Ron was clearly distressed. She would be too, considering that he would be forced to be virtually alone with that monster, at that monster's house. She, or any of them, would have hated the thought, even before what was going on with Malfoy and Ron. Now, knowing what they did, the thought of Ron isolated with the Malfoys sent a chill down her spine and she could feel the fear like a cold, lead weight in her stomach. She put a hand to Ron's shoulder, wanting to comfort him and reassure herself that for the moment he was safe. Ron didn't look afraid though, he just looked angry. Without a word he rose once again from his chair, shaking Hermione's hand from his shoulder, and strode quickly from the room, slamming the door behind him.