Sensation was very slow to return to Hermione. At first, all she could feel was a dull throb in the back of her head. She could feel every painful thump it made against her skull, regular, like a metronome. However, it took Hermione a moment to actually register the thumping as actual pain. Her vision was still blurry, and she couldn't make out her surroundings, so she relied on touch.
Beneath her, she could feel cold, slightly damp flagstone against her lower legs. She was apparently sitting. She tried to move her hands, fingers struggling to touch what was around her, but they were tied fast; the feeling of rope scraping against her delicate wrists.
That woke her like a douse in cold water. Her eyes opened fully, and her body jerked as though she had been electrocuted. This was all well and good for the waking up idea, but the dull throb in her head escalated to a full blown agony of overwhelming pain. It was as though she had hit been over the head with something heavy, something she was beginning to believe.
Either way and whether she wanted to be or not, Hermione Granger was fully awake and fully aware. She knew all too well that her hair was weighted down with a thick, drying liquid, which she quickly realized was her own blood. A quick glance down at her clothing proved the realization, as it was spattered with the bright liquid and the flagstone showed the same liquid in lurid patches or red, dark from clotting and slow drying. A part of her mind realized that the blood would be very hard to get out of the floor, and that a simple scourgify would not purge the stone of such a stain. However, she was not able to ponder long enough to figure out which spell would be best for the removal of blood, because another sense of hers awoke to something new.
It was sound. She heard a sound so foreign to her, given her situation that it took her a moment to truly grasp what it was. When she did though, she found it more frightening and disturbing than the entire state of her body. The sound of laughter greeted her ears. Not just any laughter, though Hermione supposed that mirthful laughter would have been more disturbing. This was the sick and hysterical laugh of someone half mad. Of someone who had crossed the line and was preparing to fall off the precipice, and the sound of it chilled Hermione to the bone.
Slowly, ever so slowly so as not to excite her head wound, Hermione raised her blood-clotted head, and came face to face with her attacker. It was not who she expected.
"Why, hello Hermione!" The voice had once been high and excitable, the face, small alight with a flame that Hermione had once found bothersome, those eyes, as curious as her own. Now though, it seemed different somehow. The voice was deeper, more sadistic sounding, the face darker as though the light had indeed gone out, and those eyes, those dark eyes seemed to hold unbelievable evil. When had this happened? What had changed him?
"Colin!" Her voice was hoarse, so much so that she stopped a moment, swallowing roughly to better control her vocal cords. She then spoke again, trying to make sense of what was going on around her. "Colin, what's going on? Where are we?" Hermione Granger, for once, didn't have all of the answers, and it was more terrifying than her first flying lesson.
Colin didn't seem very terrified though. No, he didn't seem terrified at all as he crouched down before her, malignant eyes meeting her own. He smiled in a patronizing way and reached out, patting her lightly on the cheek, as though she were a first year, and he the older, guiding student and not the other way around. This was becoming positively strange. When had she fallen down the rabbit hole?
"Didn't you see it Hermione? Oh, it was really wonderful! You were walking down the stairs, and you walked right past me without even seeing me!" He gave a malicious, insane little giggle, as though he were a child pulling the wings off some small insect. "Well, it was the perfect opportunity for me, and I certainly could not let the opportunity pass." Another giggle and Hermione was starting to regret asking the question. "So, I pulled out my wand and cursed you! Oh! How beautiful it was too! The way you fell was absolutely elegant! Really makes me wish I had my camera. Shame about the head though."
Hermione's mind was still too fuzzy. It was having a very hard time following what Colin was saying. Perhaps, it was the fact that what Colin was saying made absolutely no sense to Hermione. He was a Gryffindor! Part of her mind viciously reminded her that Pettigrew was also a Gryffindor Still, it made no sense, and she told him so. "Colin, how? Why? I thought that you were—"
He silenced her with a gesture, or perhaps it was the look on his face. Gone were the glee and the giggles, and the excitement. In their place, was a dark and brooding insanity that made Hermione shiver.
"Thought I was what Hermione? A Gryffindor? A mudblood? Harry's pet dog?" His mouth dripped with venom, acidic and frightening. He laughed again; this time sardonic and mirthless. He rose to his feet, starting to pace. "Oh yes, I suppose I was all of those things. Little Colin Creevey, always following the great Harry Potter with his camera." He sneered and imitated his own voice. "Oi Harry! Can I get a picture?" His hands rose, forming the shape of a camera with one finger clicking away at an imaginary shutter. "Can I have your autograph Harry?" This time he imitated his own expression, only it was twisted and simpering, and Hermione scooted away from it. This was simply unreal.
He laughed again, that dark sardonic laugh and kneeled down, cupping Hermione's chin painfully with ice cold fingers, stopping her from moving away from him. Those eyes, Hermione decided, were the scariest; wide and vacant with only darkness and malicious intent sparking them. She whimpered in a mixture of pain and pure terror, and he smiled at her darkly. He didn't release her chin.
"Yes, that was how it used to be Hermione." This time his voice was low and conspiratorial. "But, I grew tired of being the puppy. I wanted to be the wolf. I wanted to hold Harry by the neck and command his attention the way he controlled mine. I wanted to make him see. See me." He moved in closer to her, and she whimpered again. Even his breath was cold.
"The Dark Lord didn't care that I was small and a mudblood. He didn't mind my camera. He saw the potential in me. Saw me when Harry didn't see me at all. He taught me things Harry never taught me." His wand twirled lazily in his fingers. "He told me how to get Harry's attention, and now, I'm going to do it."
Colin than raised that wand, pointing it at Hermione's face. His lips twisted in a wry sort of smile as he let go of her chin. Hermione could only stare in blank shock and confusion. It didn't make sense. Colin had always been so good. He couldn't be doing this…
"Sorry Hermione. This is the only way to make him see though." She had never heard anything so insincere, not even from Malfoy.
"Avada Kedavra!"
A flash of green, and it all went black.
The next morning, there was an eerie kind of silence about the school. Harry and Ron could not quite figure out what was wrong. They walked down the stairs into the entrance hall, side-stepping all the wide and shocked glances.
"What the bloody hell is wrong with everyone this morning?"
Harry shrugged, wishing he could answer his friend. "Let's go to the Great Hall. Hermione might know." They didn't make it there though. Halfway through the entrance hall, a large crowd attracted their attention, and curiously, they pushed their way to the front of the crowd… And immediately wished they hadn't.
It was their Hermione. Their beautiful Hermione. Her face was hidden by blood matted curls, but they still knew. They still recognized her, despite the pike's point, red with blood, pushed through her back and appearing out her stomach, slowly cutting higher and higher as it suspended her in mid-air. It was still their Hermione. Their Hermione propped against a suit of armor with a pike through her middle.
It was a very long moment in which Harry heard nothing at all. Not the chattering of voices, not the shout of the teachers, shooing the wayward students away from the grotesque scene, not Ron's horrifying scream, nor the calm gentle voice of Dumbledore, trying to drag him away to his office. All he could see, hear, smell, and taste was her.
Then finally, Harry pulled his eyes away, looking above the scene instead of right at it. But, there was no solace to be found there either. For above the bloodied and eviscerated body of his best friend, was a message for him, in screaming letters of blood.
Do you see me now Harry Potter?
Harry wished he could scream.