Chapter 5
The Return
(A/N:: I am short, artificial redhead that is very single and very childless…in fact I in no way resemble JKR…so of course nothing is even remotely mine)
Harry stood on the platform and searched for a familiar face he knew wasn't going appear. All around him familiar sights warmed him after the most hellish summer with the Dursley's he had ever experienced in his whole life. The sights of little kids not yet old enough to attend school running around getting underfoot, baby siblings throwing tantrums, upset at their favorite brother or sister heading off to school. Parents sternly instructing offspring about proper decorum and behavior, all the while hugging so tightly the child in question was turning purple. All these sights were normal and comforting and warmed him after the abuse of the summer, but something was different. Harry sighed and shook his head as the crowd milled around.
Everything was different.
Without her, something was missing from the scene in front of him.
Ginny and Ron were waiting for him on the train, waiting to see if he would see her. See familiar brown eyes, frizzy curly hair and a tiny almost too tiny frame. It was amazing at the ache he felt watching the crowd. Knowing that she wasn't going to burst through a group of people and hug him tightly, peck him on the cheek and demand to know if he finished his homework. It hurt even though he knew she wasn't going to come. And he knew she wasn't going to. Dumbledore had owled and warned him. She was still so fragile he had written, he wanted to keep her exposure to people, even her friends, at a minimum until she was stronger. If she was ready, he might get to see her once classes began.
Harry shut his eyes as flames filled his vision. He remembered the confrontation, the sight of Ron's broken and bleeding body lying on the ground. How rapid, labored breathing and the sight of blood and dirt mixing at his feet spurned him unprepared into the final battle. But she saved them. He could still vaguely feel the flames lapping warmly at him skin, Voldemort's final scream cut short by his own shout of "Avada Kedvarda," the pleas of mercy from those who never gave it. When the flames died down, there were three left. Ron, better off than before, the fire burned the blood from his lungs, and melted the blade that had pierced the thick walls of his heart. Harry was fine, bruised and scratched but ultimately happy the war was over. Voldemort was dead. His happiness was short lived.
Because after levitating Ron; he saw her.
Smoke rising from her robes, hair flame kissed and different, curled in the fetal position, whimpering softly as the Death Eater's bodies crumpled into ash and smoke all around her.
He owed her everything, a girl that risked everything for two selfish boys that distanced themselves from her when he eating disorder surfaced, when her parents died, when they got girlfriends. Despite all that she came, and sacrificed her innocence to save two friends that didn't deserve her. The sight of her tear stained face vividly appeared in his mind, her empty haunted eyes and how the tears didn't stop, how she didn't notice as he picked her up and carried her away from her own private hell.
He remembered sitting by her bedside for three days while Pomfrey kept her asleep with potions and charms, as various people filtered into and out of the hospital wing to stare at the girl they once called friend or damn know-it-all. Then he remembered the ache and fear he felt when she left. Left in the middle of the night without a single word. Not even Dumbledore had known her whereabouts until the morning. Harry remembered his anger at the school and at the faculty for not keeping a better eye on her, and most of all fury at Dumbledore for the sudden and troubling disappearance of his usual omniscience. He remembered his angry words thrown at the one father figure he had left.
"How could you?" The Headmaster's eyes were dull and tired, the sparkle gone as he worried about the girl as well. "First my Mum and Dad, then Sirius, now my sister. MY SISTER? You let them die and leave me, and now you let her leave as well? She needs me, her brother." Harry remembered the burning in his eyes, and the tightness of his throat as he finally acknowledged the familial bond he felt towards her for so many years. As he acknowledged why she had him wrapped around her little finger for so long. Remembered the pain in his heart as he cried for the loss of his sister.
A high-pitched wail echoed through the platform…the conductor calling out last call to the passengers. And still she hadn't come. She was going to miss their last train ride to Hogwart's the final ride to their home of seven years. He would-- they would have ride with out her, the golden trio had been broken by an act of love, and nothing would be the same. Even when they were reunited, and Hermione was by their side once again, nothing would ever be the same again.
*~*~*
Draco sat in a compartment and tried to will his housemates into oblivion. He was tired, heartsore and dreadfully alone. For a month he had been happy, a true happiness he hadn't felt since early childhood, happy in a world that didn't belong to him. Now, back in the world he used to think he ruled Draco was miserable. A cold and aching misery that grew as the train pulled out of London and raced through the English countryside, a misery that carved away a piece of his soul that belong solely to her.
Her.
As much as he hoped that her would see her again he knew that he wouldn't. While they were both in the same country, he would never find her. He didn't even know her real name. Besides how many Prep schools allowed their students to go clubbing every night? Even if he found a way to the London club scene My wouldn't be able to. They were separated by circumstances and he didn't know how to resolve them. Not thinking about his company Drake curled his hand into a fist and shouted, "Fuck," slamming the tense fist into the train wall. Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle and a myriad of other Slytherins looked on in horror at their Slytherin Prince.
Gone was the spoiled brat of the spring. Malfoy had returned for his final school year as a man. He was stronger mentally and physically, had a quiet reserve of strength and will that he never possessed before. The cold grey eyes of the Malfoy family were no long dark with rage and spite, or blank with contempt. They were so much worse now. Draco was broken. A piece of his heart and soul had been ripped away and his eyes told the world he knew he would never get it back.
Drake looked at the startled faces all around him, waiting for him to tell them what to do, to say, to think, to feel. Unconsciously he flexed his fist, felt the bones shift and slid readjusting after nearly breaking them on the wall. Standing up looking around at frightened, fawning faces he left compartment, robes flowing out behind him. Unbuttoned, his robes revealed a sight no student thought possible. Under the heavy black wool, Draco Malfoy pureblood extraordinaire, wore muggle khakis and a green button up dress shirt, looking very much like a young CEO striding towards the boardroom. As he strode past, the other members of the Slytherin house watched in amazement as their leader, most likely to become the next dark lord, walked down the train wearing muggle cloths and allowing some type of muggle machine to rest on his head and cover his ears.
Drake felt his muscles relax after escaping the simpering and the stupidity. He felt nothing towards the vicious girl he once thought he would marry, or the thickheaded idiots he called friends. He allowed the music to flow into his ears and take over his mind. His body began to respond to the heavy bass and electronica, he allowed his head to move along with the throbbing beat that echoed deep in his ears. The music helped. He bought the Discman after seeing My in the streets early in august. Though he would never admit it to anyone else, the muggle music machine intrigued him in a way no other muggle thing did. Well except for My. It took three days to find a purchase, a week to understand, and then his triumph, almost the rest of the month to figure out how exactly to make the machine run off of magic. He didn't mind, it was worth the frustration and the strange looks to be able to carry around a piece of My with him everywhere. He paced along the aisle, head moving in time with the music, lips moving along with incomprehensible lyrics.
The incredulous stares of the muggleborn students amused him. They thought they held the corner on all things muggle, only to have their enemy, the Slytherin Prince to wander up and down the train lost in his own world, in muggle cloths, somehow using muggle machines and singing along to muggle music? He could practically hear their thoughts, Has the wizard world gone totally bloody mad? He was proud he kept down the smirk and the scorn; all he wanted for the year was peace. A year of freedom before he had to retire to the world of business deals and dirty politics was all that he asked. Somehow, he knew that that was what My would have wanted for him.
Walking along the corridor, he lowered the volume of the trip hop beat, listening to the loud laughs and shouts of student hyped up on sugar and excitement. They were all so carefree. The last year of battles and deaths hadn't affected them at. The death of the Dark Lord, and every single loyal Death Eater was forgotten when the Weird Sisters released a new album. The death of his father and the disappearance of his killer didn't matter to the vapid and brainless gits that surrounded him.
There was no one at the school that could match his intellect, except Hermione Granger. The only person in the school that dared to cross his father and hit him, the only person that might be able to provide him his intellectual conversation. The one person he was forbidden to speak with, forever. The idea of him befriending the mudblood for conversation was laughable; his father would have beaten him to near death, and then tortured his with the favored curse of the weak, Cructacius. The only heir of the Malfoy name and dark heritage could never sully himself with getting to know the only match for him at the school. Draco sighed, too much had happened between them for a friendship to ever occur. He thought to himself, he honestly didn't want one. He might not think less of her for the background, but the fawning looks she gave to Potter and Weasly was sickening, how she was willing to demean herself for those idiots was repulsive. He disliked her now for other reasons than in the early school days. He now hated her because she never got to be all that she could be, hated her for allowing herself to adopt the subordinate position in an empty friendship.
Friendship. Lucius Malfoy had drilled into Draco's brain the worthlessness of friends for many years. Long vicious diatribes renouncing all emotional contact and all human relations. The only thing that mattered to Lucius was power and hate.
Now his father was dead. Now Drake wished the encounters he had with Hermione had been less volatile, if he attempted to approach her now he would be possibly hexed to death by the idiot boy wonder and sidekick, or burned to a crisp in a wave of flames by Hermione herself.
Just like his father.
His father. The man that Draco had wanted to be like for the first fifteen years of his life, despite beatings and abuse. The man that sold his soul to kiss the dirty ass of a worthless half living serpent. The man that lost his life to a sixteen-year-old girl. That is if the rumors were true. Draco felt self-loathing grow in him as his thoughts turned to the girl that murdered his father and the parents of the majority of his housemates. The girl that toppled his life at the same time she helped him to find the only thing that ever really mattered to him. How could he respect and deep in his heart thank the person the killed his father? He didn't know, but if the rumors were true, and Hermione Granger was figure in the rumors then he owed her his bruise free life, and he owed the My, if she hadn't killed Lucius then Drake never would have been conceived, and he never would have gone to New York, he never would have met My. Somehow he knew that even though he should be plotting to destroy the girl all he wanted to do was ignore her, she had destroyed one life and given him another, that was all the interaction he wanted with her.
A loud explosion from one compartment forced him back to the Hogwart's Express. Back to loud and inconsiderate children racing underfoot, trying to invent new and even more obnoxious noises. Walking along he glanced at shadowy figures in each compartment, until he stopped in front of an intriguing sight. Three figures sat quietly, the happiness that enveloped the train seemed to stop at the door, the chill effect as palatable as the dementor effect. Interested Drake slid the door open to reveal Potter and the fan club sitting close together. Potter looked distraught, Weasel worried, and the little one upset, but still trying to make Potter feel better. Unable to resist the urge to torment the trio, Draco entered the compartment, leaning his lean back against the wooden frame and drawled in a new American-British accent,
"What's the matter Potter?" His voice dripped with malice.
Harry looked up, removing his head from the comfort of his hands, and stared straight into Drake's eyes. The emotion that dominated the emerald orbs was raw and bleeding pain. It was a familiar sight. It was a look that he saw every time he looked in his mirror. The look of loss, the expression a person gets when a piece of your soul is ripped away. Drake's eyes had already noticed, the one face he wanted to see missing. Hermione wasn't with the dream team.
"Granger?" Potter nodded sharply, the pain of her absence was blatant. Drake nodded once, and turned to leave. The pain in Potter's eyes was too familiar to fuck with. Walking away he heard the jackass whisper, "What the bloody hell was that?" and the little one respond, "Did you see that? He looked broken." And from Potter there was only silence as his shoulders shook with restrained tears and fury.
Drake shook his head as he walked away from the broken dream team, this year was going to be a long one, making Potters life miserable was one of his favorite pastimes, and until Potter was healed there wouldn't be any sport in taking him down. Drake snorted at his life as he wandered down the corridor. Laughed at how his greatest joy was making others miserable, at how no one has tried to speak to him in the three months he was in New York, at how even though he was smart at potions everyone thought his marks were due to the disgusting favoritism of Professor Snape. He laughed at the miserable excuse that was his life. He didn't know how he lived without My, she had become his purpose, and without her he had none. He had regressed to earlier years when he had nothing, and now that he knew what it was like to have a purpose, he didn't quite know what to do with the empty feeling inside of him. Drake wandered down the aisle to the end of the train, looking around he quietly stepped out of the door, let the wind whip through his loose hair.
Sitting down on the tiny platform, he cranked the volume on the player and allowed the music to flood his ears, let his thoughts drift to her, and allowed his heart to cry out for its match. He trained his eyes on the blur of English countryside, somewhere out there My sat on a plane, flying back to the place that destroyed her. He would never get to see her again, never feel her skin again, and never get to share the dance again. He wished that he could return to August, to ask My to run away with him, to spend the rest of his life in dance, running away from her horrors, from the edicts and abuse of his father, running from the expectations.
Just the two of them running forever.
*~*~*
The grass was green and lush, the quidditch pitch well maintained and clean. The covered stands held ghosts of happier times, screaming and shouting. It held afterimages of friends celebrating and mourning together, victories and defeats forever being replayed. My stood there and watched, saw her younger self jump and yell. Each sweep of the flying brooms was a reason to scream herself hoarse. It was an era of happier times, a time when war, pain and death were gray shades. Distant hobgoblins riding the tail end of a bad dream.
Things were different now. The war was over, Quidditch was about to begin again, and for My death was everywhere. Simply standing in the field hurt. The dying screams filled her ears. The same cries for mercy that haunted her mind for the last four months. They were louder here. The forest spread out behind her, a dark malevolent reminder of her sins, the dead's cries amplified by the branches until not even the strongest memory of silver eyes could keep them away. Tears began to fall and My felt her barriers crumple to nothingness. The nightmare began again.
She was in a cave.
All around her black-cloaked men with blank masks stood and stared at the two boys in front of her.
Ron lay curled on the cave floor, body bloody and broken, breathing labored and blood seeping out to stain the cave floor.
Harry, anger brought to a boil and flash frozen trying to stare down the demonic apparition of Voldemort.
All around them, taunts and jeers towards her, lascivious comments and suggestions. Threats on her virginity, and demands for "personal time."
It was too much. Those awful, horrible men. They killed her parents, Harry's parents, Sirius, Cedric, and so many nameless others, students adults and muggles. They thought they were above life. Above the basic decency, man was the only mammal to kill it's own kind for no reason. It enraged her. The sight of Ron, so full of life, lying on the floor so close to death, Harry screaming incoherently at the demonic figure that killed his parents shook her soul. The sight of a sixteen-year-old boy engaged in a duel to the death with a grown man sickened her. Then it happened. From the corner of her eye, she saw him. Avery stepping forward, a bolt of dark violet light struck Harry in the back. An adult cheating in a preordained battle.
Her rage grew.
The heat in her blood rose red light flooded her eyes. She watched Harry fall behind a haze of red. Somehow she felt the end. It was the end, either Harry or Voldemort. One of them had to die, and only Harry could kill him. These men had destroyed her life, and now they were trying to destroy the hope of the rest of the world.
In a fit of rage she flung her hands out to the side and angled to face to the roof of the cave. "Cease." Fire fell for her fingertips. "This battle is none of your concern. I am your concern." Her voice crackled with flame and rage.
The masked men turned and stared at the enraged girl in front of them, unwittingly a voice in the back signed their death warrant.
"Why should we concern ourselves with a filthy little mudblood when our lord is about to win?" That word, the scorn at her self worth ended it. The rage she felt expanded, the light grew and over her crackling voice, a keening cry filled the cave, echoing across the walls, filling the men's ears with the sound of death.
"This is why you should be concerned with what a mudblood can do you fools. Beware." The light grew and grew, the fire spilled from her hands, from her body. A phantasm of flame arced around her, caressed her, blew up her bushy hair, wove itself through it, back light her whole body in a halo of fire. "Beware and burn." The fire flowed and all around her there were screams.
Cries
Pleas for mercy
Begging
Tears
In the background a faint whisper of "Avada Kedvarda" and double thumps. Her strength waned. The anger drained as the pain grew. The fire continued burning a hole through her soul until she heard a voice. Broken and pain filled. A voice that was once cold and haughty, frightening and vicious now was fading and weak, pleading to a higher power.
"Draco my son--" Then there was silence. Hermione broke from her trance to see the bodies all around her, burned and smoking, crumbling to ash. In the back of her mind a traitorous voice whispered 'freedom at last' before the voices of the dead filled her mind, and she remembered no more.
She woke up in the dark three days later, alone in a hospital bed. Awoke to an angry burn scar on her chest, voices of the dead in her mind, and surrounding her gifts to the girl that toppled an army and lost her soul. Gifts to a murderer that killed seventy people in a fit of anger, seventy people that lived inside of her head.
She looked at the white walls and heard Malfoy's dying cry echo in her mind. She felt the overwhelming need to escape. She had to stop the voices. Had to keep the emotions away. So she left and didn't look back for four months. For those four months she was alone, she survived, and she was still sane.
Better than that, not only did she keep hold of her sanity, but somehow she fell in love.
But she gave it up. Gave up the one person, the one thing that made the voices go away, to return. Return to the place that destroyed her, to the one man that could answer her questions.
Why did the questions matter so much? Why were the hows and whens and whys so bloody important? Because. Because deep at heart, she was still the resident Hogwarts know-it-all with a thirst for knowledge. She needed to know, needed her fears confirmed, her questions answered. So she returned to her school and now, now she was paying for it with her hard earned sanity. The forest reached for her. Dark angry fingers straining to spirit her into its depths, ghosts hidden deep in the haunted wood came out to greet her, the screams of the dying and the echo of her won satisfaction resounded in her ears blocking out the sound of heavy footsteps. Her vision faded to black around the edges, and she felt herself fall to the ground with a single word on her lips.
"Drake"
*~*~*
Hagrid sat in his hut waiting for the clock to strike eleven. Today Hermione was coming home after an absence that never should have occurred. Not to her.
Hermione had always been a favorite of his, all of the golden trio were, but Hermione with her steady hand and efficient voice helping him with Buckbeak in her third year made her stand out even against the light of Harry's afterglow. Her thirst for information, her brains, and her power entitled her to a life of privilege in the wizard world and in the muggle one. Yet the gifts that fell at her feet hadn't spoiled her, she earned each accolade, and she was still as humble as the first day she entered Hogwarts. He thought of the time she spent on Buckbeak's trial, the gallons of drool Fang leaked on her, her acceptance of his parentage, and her selfless agreement to look after Gwap in her fifth year. He thought about how much he owed her. Now it was his chance to pay her back just a portion of the kindness she showed him. Now he had a chance to look after her, take care of her, help her through the hell no seventeen year old should have to go through.
Hearing the bells chime in the distance, he walked out of the hut and headed out to the pitch, to where Hermione was going to appear by portkey. His long legs carried over the grounds in moments, broaching a slight in time to see a figure appear before him. He took in the sight of her, she was still short, but now her once bony body was covered in smooth muscle. Ruined makeup decorated a flawless face; mascara rivulets traced their way down her face to pool in the crevice of her collarbone. It was her hair that caught his eye however, her long chocolate hair had darkened and straightened, streaks of auburn streaked through the chocolate, the evidence of her rebirth by flame.
He watched as horror flickered across her face.
Watched as the sight of the forest increased the speed of her tears.
Watched bright and promising eyes go blank and haunted at sights only she could see.
Finally her watched as her body crumpled and she fell to the ground, limp as a child's doll.
Hagrid reached closed the distance between the two of them in a matter of seconds, and had her up of the ground cradled in his arms before the dew could soak into her robes. Looking down at the trunk and the suitcase sitting in a heap on the ground, Hagrid shouted to the air, hoping someone would here his call. Houselves did have ears everywhere.
"Oi Dobby, are ya listening mate?"
A few seconds later, the elf appeared in a burst of lavender smoke, bowed, and gathered up all of the heavy baggage before disappearing once again. Settling Hermione more comfortably against his chest Hagrid began walking towards the castle, his long legs carrying them to the door in a few moments. Looking down at the fragile girl in his arms he hoped that when she woke up she would still be Hermione Granger, resident-know-it-all, not some broken stranger. Striding through the cracked door, Hagrid paused, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light.
"Hagrid," a Scottish brogue echoed through the hall.
"'ullo Minerva. I dinna know wot to do wit 'ermione. She collapsed on the Quidditch pitch just after the portkey brought 'er."
Minerva felt her heart break a little more at the sorry sight of her best student. "I'll take it from here, Hagrid, I believe that she is just sleeping now." Taking her wand, Minerva conjured a stretcher from the air, and allowed Hagrid to lay the sleeping girl gently on it.
She turned and walked out of the hall, leaving Hagrid to do his duties, the stretcher following behind her. Slowly they walked through the empty halls, footsteps echoing against the stone during the long trip to the headmaster's private office.
"Oh my child. Why did you leave? We could have helped you through this, we could figure out exactly how to help you." Minerva sighed, and was startled by a rusty voice from the stretcher.
"No one can help me Professor. I am lost." With that she turned over, leaving her back exposed to the distraught woman.
"Miss Granger--" McGonagall tried to catch her attention but My couldn't hear her. All of her concentration was focused on the steady throb of her heartbeat, the closest thing Hogwarts had to a beat.
Swollowing hard, Minerva simply placed a hand on her shoulder, and continued on the walk to Dumbledore's office. Finally they reached the stone gargoyle that rolled open at the sound of Minerva's pointed boots. Making certain that the girl was securely on the stretcher she began to walk up the stairs, and into the cozy circular room, ignoring the huffy expressions of the portraits.
"Can you alert the Headmaster that Miss Granger has safely arrived, thought not as intact was we wished." A few men and women nodded solemnly and disappeared behind the gilt frames. The others moved closer to the edges of their backgrounds and watched the huddled figure with critical eyes. Underneath the criticism, there was awe, pity, and underneath even that was an overwhelming and pervading sense of fear.
A few minutes later, a portrait returned, her skin flushed and eyes shining with repressed tears. "The Headmater is coming. He will be up in a moment, however, he ask that you Professor McGonagall go and prepare the hall for the welcoming feast." The professor narrowed her eyes at the already distraught portrait, her dislike at leaving her charge clear. Finally though, her allegiance to Dumbledore won and gently squeezing Hermione's shoulder, she left the office.
My lay there on the stretcher, the steady THUMP of her heart battled with the cries of the dying. She was tired of fighting them, she wanted the clean exhaustion that came with the dance, wanted the liquid movement of the muscles and the blend of music and self. Bracing herself for an onslaught of buried memories, she opened her eyes to see a comforting reminder of her childhood. She had always felt safe in the Headmaster's office, the debriefing that she went through after the trios little adventures always calmed her. The warmth and the portraits always made her feel comfortable and secure. Today thought they stared at her with different expressions. Today they stared at her with fear in their eyes, as though she was going to burst into flames at any moment. She glared at the former Heads and laughed bitterly as they ran from their frames, muttering excuses. Their oobvious fear didn't help her. The already impairing de-humanization she suffered from grew worse with every terror filled glance.
Curling up she waited for the headmaster to appear. Waiting for him to come and explain her fate, the fate of a murderer. The tears began to fall onto the stretcher again, leaving her cheeks damp, her pale skin once again covered. The pain took over and My retreated, retreated to a world of techno beats and hip hop rhythm. Gray and gold eyes met, they moved together, the music washed through and around her, as another song filled her ears, dominated her attention.
High and Pure
Salvation and Forgiveness
Revenge and Renewal
Death and the inevitable Rebirth
It was Fawkes. The phoenix had flown in from somewhere and settled in the hollow between her knees and chest, his heat comforted like a warm drink on a cold day. She didn't move, just placed a slender hand on his back and retreated back into memories of gray eyes that held her and understood her. Loved her and didn't judge her.
A voice broke through her musings, a voice that brought back unpleasant happenings and unwanted feelings.
"Ah-- Miss Granger. Welcome back to Hogwarts." Blue eyes ripped into her soul. "I won't demean you by asking after your holiday. I just hope that it provided you with time to collect your thoughts, reorder your mind." She glared at him. Generalized anger towards him and her pain made the fire inside her spike.
"You bloody bastard." The Hermione of old shuddered at her language. She would never swear at the headmaster. To My, it didn't matter. For three months she remained silent about what happened. Now being back, having the voices out of the barriers she erected made her snap. She didn't care who was in front of her, didn't care how yelling at him would affect her future.
"You--" her voice shook with suppressed rage, the only thing keeping the volume down was the soft Phoenix song from the corner. "You dare ask me about my holiday? Ask if I have my head on straight?" She glared, honey eyes flashed. "How exactly is a murderer supposed to 'reorder her thought?'" Her voice was biting and acerbic, the sarcasm enough to freeze even Snape in his tracks.
Dumbledore cringed internally. She was on edge, her pain obvious. He knew he had left it to long. She should have returned long ago. The day after she ran away even.
But he had hoped.
Hoped she understood the power of her sacrifice.
Hoped she would find her peace in dance, not just a respite from the guilt.
Hoped that in his arms find happiness.
But instead HE forced her back here.
Back to face her demons.
Demons he allowed to possess her.
"Hermione, you are not a murderer. You saved everyone. You helped Harry complete his destiny and to save the world from such ugliness. You are a hero." She snorted, the fire in the room twitched with her movements. "If you allow me to explain, you will se you are far from a murderer." My turned and glared at the old man.
"Shut. Up." She hissed, ignoring scandalized murmers from the few portraits brave enough to return. "I don't deserve to be here with these children."
For almost two hours they argued. My proclaiming her depravity and disgust at being alive, while Dumbledore struggled to counter her arguments. Tried to draw her away from the teetering edge. Tried to make her feel her own worth.
Unknown to him, it was working. My could feel the truth in his words, could read the sincerity in his eyes.
Maybe she wasn't so evil. The traitorous thoughts slipped into her mind, past her barriers and struck like a blow.
Maybe she had the right to live. Then it happened. Malfoy's dying voice filled her mind, calling for his son. And she fell back into self-loathing. She deserved the hell she was in, there was only one person that could release her from it, and she wasn't worthy enough to beg for his forgiveness.
Dumbledore thought he had done it. Finally gotten through to her. When it happened. Eyes he didn't know were soft hardened again. Glittering diamonds fronting a mask of fire and ice. For the first time since Grindlewald, he felt an inkling of fear creep along his spine. It didn't last long however, he remembered who she was, his favorite Gryffindor girl in fifty years and compassion deadened the fear.
"You are not a murderer Miss Granger." He drew a deep breath, there was so much he had to tell her, so much he had to make her understand.
à Here it is, the fifth chapter, I know I know it took a LONG time, but real life crept up on me, I really wasn't sure how to continue from chapter five, and I had to rewrite this a few times until I was if not happy, at least content with how it, a transition chapter turned out. I hope this matches the expectations you have and if it doesn't, please let me know what you think.
Just to warn you, I am in college, and so I can't guarantee a set update schedule, but I won't stop writing until its done…My and Drake won't let me quit (hear that Louise?)
Thanks to everyone that reviewed, opening my email and seeing those emails, helped me through tough times. Once again thank you.
