Dead Promises

I swore to her that everything would be ok—I lied.

Oh, how I miss the way she used to smile at me when I felt like giving up on everything in my life. That smile was what kept me moving forward and never looking back at my past. I even miss the way anger flashed in her eyes whenever we had the usual argument about homework and cheating on tests.

All I know is that she could be here atthis moment, if only I was not the Harry Potter everyone talked about, and she was not one of Harry Potter's best friends—Hermione Granger.

It hurts to speak her name after all that has happened, but I need to write something down; it acts like a kind of therapy for me, although I feel that nothing can ease the pain now that it has begun.

It all started one terrifying night atthe Burrow; where I had been spending the summer before returning to Hogwarts for my final year. I had been woken by the sound of a piercing, spine-chilling scream that tore through the house. The scream had emanated fromthe bedroom thatHermione and Ginny shared.I was outside the room in an instant; gazing thunder-struck at the blood-soaked sheets that lay on Hermione's now empty bed. I saw Ginny trembling beneath her own sheets; she seemed unable to control the fear as it coursed through her body, causing her to tremblein her own bed. I was shaken from my own state of shock whenI heard Mrs. Weasley gasping behind me; she was as white as a sheet. Mr Weasley pushed past me and sat with Ginny, trying to calm her down and attempting get her to talk about what had just happened; she merely shook her head vigorously and continued to quiver in her father's embrace, tears falling from her fearful eyes. My own eyes moved from Ginny's sobbing figure, over Hermione's bloody bed, until they came to rest on the trail of blood on the windowsill. I could not stand to think where Hermione was right now—if she was evenalive.

It was as if a lump had formed inside my throat, preventing me from talking, even when Ron entered the room, his face a ghostly white, I still could not talk. I took Mr Weasley's place on Ginny's bed, and I took her in my arms, and I held her tight. I needed to get her out of the room, and so, with Ron's help, we managed to persuade Ginny to come with us downstairs. Once we had settled Ginny in one of the chairs by the fireplace her sobbing softened and her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, the dancing flames of the fire were reflected out of her big brown eyes.

Many hours passed, at least it seemed that way, beforeGinny was able to mumble something to me; something which left me feeling even worse than before, if that was possible. Ginny was still sobbing, but through the muffled breaths and tearful cries I was able to understand what she was trying to say; the last thing she had saw in that room, was Lucius Malfoy disappearing in front of her.

Ron said nothing through the entire disturbing event; his eyes were so full of hurt that I could not bear to look at him as he constantly reminded me that this was not a nightmare that I was going to wake up from, this was reality and I could not escape it.

A few members from the Order immediately arrived when they heard the news and had a meeting of some kind. Lupin and Tonks were first to apparate in the Burrow, followed closely by Moody and a few other strict-looking Aurors. Lupin was looking more exhausted than ever, wearing torn robes. A meeting which Ron and I didn't want to hear even though we were of age then. I just sat there on the sofa with Ginny and Ron, watching as the Order marched in the kitchen and shut the door behind them.

An hour passed, and I still sat there; not knowing what was going on behind that door, and not wanting to know.

I cannot bear to think that I did not even try to do anything about it then, I kept telling myself that everything would be fine—that was what I had promised her the previous night, when we were talking about what was to come when I would face Voldemort, she was so worried.

Suddenly I surprised everyone including myself by standing up abruptly and rushing out of the front door to find even more dried blood marks on the ground in the front garden which sent shivers up and down my spine as I wondered gloomily what had really happened tonight. I stopped in my tracks when something shiny caught my eye in the moon's light.

As I bent down to pick it up I realised what it was—a dainty blotted silver ring with 'Hermione' engravedon it, the same ring Ron had gave her in her birthday. I closed my hand tightly around it as though somehow it would bring her back—wherever she was.

Nobody said a word about it the next day at breakfast, in fact, no body said much about anything that day, we just asked whether there had been any news about 'her'. That was before I went to my bedroom to find Hedwig shooting unfriendly looks atan unfamiliar black eagle; I could see that the sinister looking eagle had a letter attached to its leg, which it held out to me when I approached it. I unrolled the letter.

We have her. She's still alive.

Those six words that gave me hope and despair at the same time still haunt me to this day; they come to mein horrifying dreams. I did not want to imagine what Hermione was going through at the moment because of me How long would it be before they tortured her to death? I remember thinking to myself.

Grudgingly I showed the note to Lupin, whose tired eyes opened wide as he read it. He ran ahand through his hair the way he always did when he was really worried about something, a frown crossed his face as he re-read the note. He mentioned something about the Order and the Ministry doing the best they could to find her, but I was barely listening.

The most important thing is that they find her in time, I thought miserably. I felt like I could not stand this fresh pain after yesterday, it was like putting salt on an open wound.

Days passed without any news about Hermione, every day my hope and faith continued to fadeinto nothingness. I read the Daily Prophet every day, trying to find something in it to keep me hoping that she was still alive. The Ministry was clearly trying hard to avoid talking about someone who had gone missing and was close to me.

No more letters arrived and that made me even surer that she was dead. I was angry with myself for thinking this way—and feeling very guilty. It was the same feeling I had when Sirius died. This is all my fault, I kept thinking agonisingly as numbness filled my chest.

One day the letters from Hogwarts arrived, making me feel shattered inside as I realised that there was nothing for Hermione. I had forgotten that I had to go back to school and scowled at the letter. When I went to my room to put some new books in my trunk, I saw something that made me gulp in fear of what I was going to find. The same black eagle that had delivered the previous note was now carrying another letter, this time in an envelope. I touched the envelope as though it was about to explode as I opened it in shaking hands.

She's dead

It took some time for those two words to sink in, when they finallydid so, I felt as if the world had stopped spinning and time seemed to pause.

I read those words over and over again as though somehow they might change but there they stayed, written in black ink. There isn't any full stop, I thought, in a feeble attemptto convince myself, so this is not the end, it can't be.

There was something else in the envelope—something that drowned my last bit of hope and lit a flame of pain inside my chest.

A black and white photograph, so unlike all the other photos in the wizarding world as it was not moving an inch, was what fell from the envelope as I tipped it upside down.

It showed her—dead. I noticed how pale her skin looked, far paler than mine; her once bushy hair was lifeless—just like her body. The thing that still gives me nightmares is the drop of blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. Her torn clothes showed just how she was being treated and her body looked even more fragile than usual.

A tear came down my cheek and fell on the picture as I held it close to my heart and I whispered, "I'm sorry," over and over again. I wished she knew how sorry I was, but I knew that being sorry wasn't enough. She never knew just how much I loved her; she was like a sister to me.

I never showed either the photo or this last letter to anyone. I could never bring myself to do it; admit aloud that she is dead.

I think the Ministry gave up searching for her, and so did the Order. I take the photo everywhere with me, it's always in my pocket, wherever I go. Sometimes I wonder if it's the photograph that is slowly killing me from the inside but I'm not going to get rid of it no matter what happens; it's the only thing that reminds me of her, not that I really need reminding.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are always telling Ron to forget about her—they never said that to me because they thought I had got over it. As for the ring, I gave that to Ron, and made him promise he wouldn't tell anyone about it. That ring feels so special to me that I can't bear to think what anyone would say if they found out about it.

Now I live life day-by-day, every day the memories of Hermione fade a bit more, that's why I have to look at the photograph. Life seems empty without her; no one chatters anymore at the Burrow—we're all so quiet as though talking is a sin. I'm forced to think about her late at night when I have those nightmares that no matter how hard I try, I can't stop.

My promises don't make any difference nowadays; I didn't keep the last promise I made to her, they're just dead promises.

Summary:

I swore to her that everything would be ok—I lied.

I tried to find something in my life that would keep me hoping, this something is now gone. All I have left are the shattered memories that haunt my mind and the broken pieces of my heart.

R&R please