"Dying is a Delicate Moment"
A fanfic by Agara
"Kill me. Kill me if you ever loved me."
And he kills her.
Thoughts are written in italics
Big line : New POV
OoOoO : Same POV / Timelapse
CHAPTER FOUR : TWO GHOSTS
03.09.1942
The black lake was the same colour as the sky. Grey. The sun just rose, and a beautiful silence enveloped Hermione. Hogwarts had not been this quiet since Dumbledore's death, in sixth year. She liked it. Being alone had always been scary, but not today, not at this moment.
Her eyes were falling from sleepiness. She had not been able to sleep soundly for months. The nightmares were still here.
One, in particular, was regular. They are in Dean's forest. Harry and Her. Ron had left, and she feels betrayed, alone, afraid. Even Harry's presence is not enough. But she knows she has to be strong.
It is dark outside. Each branch from each tree looks like Bellatrix's wand, and their shadows on the tent's cloth are ghastly. The sound of the wind, similar to Dolohov's snicker, sends shivers down her spine. She goes outside, wand at the ready. Noises are coming from everywhere, steps, cracks, breathing. It gets closer. Then, the breath. On her neck. Warm and frightening. She turns around. And she wakes up. Alone, shaking, tears rolling on her cheeks, and a scream stuck in her throat.
She had not been able to get back to sleep so she had left her dormitory. And here she was, three hours before her first class. She was sat against the old tree facing the lake.
After two hours of charms, she left the room. She had not talked to anyone since yesterday and she had not been willing to participate in class. The students were walking eagerly in the corridors to get to lunch. She arrived in the Great Hall, and headed toward the Slytherin table. They were staring at her, not knowing if they had to scooch to let her sit. She smirked. She got closer.
"Bonjour" She said, smiling.
She took the seat between Isodor Avery and Edmund Rosier. Dolohov, in front of her, was waiting for her to talk to him about yesterday, to apologize, to stop pretending she was above him.
From the moment she sat down, the conversation stopped. Thorus was staring at his plate, apparently finding his beef very interesting. Edgard Lestrange didn't seem to care about the situation. Abraxas was gawking at her, with the same arrogant look he always had when looking at her. Milton, well, he was being Milton. Then Tom. He was eating, almost impassive if it was not for the slight upward movement on his lips.
"I guess I need to... " She started.
Dolohov, did you really think, even for a second, that I would lower myself to apologize ? And to you ? You've guessed wrong. Try again.
She was dragging the "to" while defying Dolohov. She could feel him get tensed. He was getting impatient. The silence became heavy. His lips started moving and Hermione knew it was not going to be pleasant to hear.
"No need to." Tom cut short.
Dolohov, in spite of his rage, nodded.
Riddle guessed right.
OoOoO
After one hour of Runes and two of Transfiguration, Hermione was drained. She already had homework. Dumbledore was a brilliant teacher but asking for 15 inches parchment at the beginning of the year was too much. Even for Hermione.
An hour had passed, she left the library and walked towards the dungeons to take a nap.
03.09.1942
Tom was still writing his essay when Grace left the library. He watched her. He had been waiting for her to leave in order to get started on his new book : Founders of Hogwarts.
The book began with Hogwart's Architecture.
Interesting.
OoOoO
The chimney was emanating a soft light. Tom was sat on the large green leather English couch. Abraxas, Antonin, and Milton were fussing about Dumbledore.
"15 inches ! What next ? My soul ?" Milton exaggerated.
Tom heard Isodor snicker behind him.
"Don't worry Milton, I'll help you if you need". Thorus offered while taking a seat next to him.
Instead of talking, get working on it.
I have already finished mine. Hortense did too.
He had seen her parchment, it had seemed quite long for only fifteen inches.
Tom had not seen Grace since the library, two hours ago. She did not attend dinner and she was nowhere to be seen. He turned his head to the right and saw in the corner of the common room Walburga Black arguing with the oldest Parkinson. Walburga was staring at him angrily.
"Black." Tom's voice was loud enough for her to turn around. "Is there someone in your dormitory ?"
"Why are you asking ?" She spat back.
"Answer me."
His voice had become deeper, darker.
"No. No one is up there" She finally answered.
What are you up to Hortense ?
04.09.1942
Once more Hermione had not been able to sleep through the night. Dark sleeping bags were visible under her eyes. Thorus was leaning against the Great Hall's door frame, a toast in his mouth and another one in his right hand.
"You're late" He told her handing her the toast.
He took her by the arm and they began walking.
"Late ? What are you talking about ? Where are you taking me ?" She asked, slightly panicked.
"Well, first calm down. Secondly, if you had listened to what I was saying in Runes yesterday you would have known what I am talking about, Quidditch tryouts ! And thirdly, I am taking you with me to witness Abraxas trying for seeker, and failing."
Hermione took a bite.
"I can't refuse then." She replied.
They arrived in the bleachers. It was cold for a September morning. Milton and Tom were already there.
"Hello Gracie !" Milton smiled at her.
She smiled back.
"Well sit down Grace." Thorus told her. "This is Flint. He is the captain."
Is it a family tradition ?
"I see the bats in Rosier and Lestrange hands. I guess they are both beaters. And I can see that Flint is a chaser." Hermione interrupted him.
"Look at you, little Quidditch fan." Thorus snickered.
She pushed him slightly.
"Slytherin is missing two chasers, a keeper and a seeker." He kept going.
"It seems like a lot."
"If you had witnessed the final match last year, you would know why."
She looked at him, alarmed. He laughed but did not explain further.
It's weird, isn't it ? Being here, watching tryouts for another team.
"Let's get started." Milton said. "Who bets on who ?"
"2 galleons on Black for chaser." Thorus replied.
"Which one ?" Tom intervened, bored.
"Cygnus."
"Then I bet on Orion." Milton declared. "3 galleons for chaser. What about you Gracie ?"
She looked at the field. And pointed almost randomly at a player.
"This one. Keeper. 4 galleons."
Thorus laughed. "You don't even know who this is."
"Don't need to. I can feel it." She smiled.
She had chosen him because he was wearing the same protection Ron did in his fifth year.
Flint blew the whistle. It began.
When she watched the Gryffindor's team tryout, she was almost glad to be there. She was looking at her friends, encouraging them. But today was different. She was freezing, tired and she did not care about the players at all. She needed to be there though. Even if Step 2 was completed, it needed to be maintained.
"How are you feeling ?" Thorus asked her quietly.
"Fantastique ! I love being here at 9 AM, in the freezing cold, watching a sport I don't even like."
"No seriously, how are you ?"
She stopped. It seemed like he was genuinely caring.
"I'm fine." She answered.
He did not look convinced. His stare caught Milton's one, and they exchanged a dubious look.
"What are…" She started.
"Thorus !" Isodor yelled. "It's Abraxas' turn."
Thorus sent her an apologizing smile and left with Milton. She was alone with Tom. They were sat in silence, a comfortable silence.
04.09.1942
Ten minutes into the tryouts, the first injury occurred. Orion Black fell violently to the ground after being hit in the face by a quaffle.
Tom and Grace winced simultaneously.
"Too predictable. He should have feint to the left." She whispered to herself.
"I thought you did not like Quidditch." He replied.
"Making an observation doesn't mean I like the sport."
"You seem quite aware of Quidditch strategies for someone who does not like the game." Tom retorqued. "And do not tell me you have read a book about it."
"I used to watch my friends play". She replied quietly.
Tom could feel something more in her expression. It was barely there, almost nonexistent : nostalgia and guilt.
Do tell me more.
"Which position ?" He asked.
Chaser.
"I was friend with the entire quidditch team" She replied.
Too easy Hortense. We all know you were best friend with the chaser.
Do not try to fool me. I need more.
"I would have not thought you were friends with the jocks." He mocked.
"Nice to reduce someone only to his extracurricular activity."
"Do not put words in my mouth." He told her, slightly annoyed.
The silence came back. A few moments before, Abraxas had tried a Wronski feint and failed. But in the end, he still caught the snitch.
"Bold of him to think he could succeed such a move." Tom commented. "I have never seen a successful one."
"Yes, I guess it's really difficult to execute". She replied knowingly. "But a fifth year could do it."
We are getting there.
"You seem quite confident that a boy of that age could achieve it."
"I am. I've seen it before." She answered proudly.
"A friend of yours maybe ?"
Grace stood up. Tom's gaze followed her every move.
"If you have something to ask Riddle, just do it." She started while walking slowly away.
How did you survive ?
How did you learn how to survive ?
How did you master how to fight ?
How could a fourteen-year-old girl be the only survivor ?
How come you hate Dumbledore ?
How can you hate the enemy of your enemy ?
How could a fourteen-year-old girl appear into Hogwarts ?
How come you have chosen Hogwarts ?
Unless you never had to survive
Unless you never had to learn
Unless you were trained to
Unless there is no survivor
Unless you were brainwashed to
Unless there was no enemy to begin with
Unless you were given the device for
Unless you did not choose. Unless you were asked to. Unless you were ordered to.
Tom rose. He asked a question.
She nodded.
04.09.1942
So Binns was already dead in 1942.
Hermione checked the time. Only 10 minutes since the class had begun and she was already bored. Not that the siege of Braumau was not interesting, but learning it again was not exalting. She was sat between Milton and Thorus, who looked equally bored. Isodor, behind her, was snickering with Edmund and Edgar. In front of her was the rest of the group. For once, Tom was not in the middle.
After 35 minutes, her paper was filled with little doodles, oddly shaped like the letter "s".
"Professor !" She heard a male voice say. "As long as we're talking about the siege, don't you think it could be interesting to compare Braumau's one with what had happened in France ? You know after this morning paper, the article..."
She rose her head and felt eyes on her.
04.09.1942
"Which article ?" The ghost answered.
"Well…" The boy quickly glanced at her, uneasy "The Daily Prophet printed the official kill list, and explained what really happened over there. There also are few extracts from journals."
The Ravenclaw was not sure how to explain the situation to the professor. He felt embarrassed.
"Students journals."
Tom quickly glanced at her and saw true panic in her eyes.
What a shame Thorus intercepted you before you could get into the Great Hall and read the paper.
Having a friend who is genuinely concerned about your well being. How lucky are you ?
Funny how little well-chosen words can put an idea in a boy's head : whether to help a friend to avoid getting hurt or to ask the right question at the right moment.
Thorus leaned into Grace's side and whispered something in her ear, using a calming voice.
She was gripping her quill so hard, he felt like it would break.
"Well, keep talking !" Binns asked the Ravenclaw, eager to know.
"The students explain...explained" he rectified "What they've been through. The lack of food, of sleep, the constant attacks, the militia they created and how it reduced week after week."
Binns turned to Grace.
"I guess the only person here, more qualified than I am to talk to you about that is Miss Hortense."
A loud silence settled.
Let's play a game Hortense.
A game where I can have my answers. A game where I set the rules.
Rule n°1 : I always choose the situation.
Let's see how you get out of this one.
"No need !" Walburga snickered at the front of the room. "I can explain to the class myself".
Rule n°2 : There are only two players.
The students were all frowning, not understanding what was happening. Tom was staring at Black, waiting for the rest of the sentence to follow.
Walburga turned around to face Grace, a haughty smile on her face, and with the most insufferable voice finished what she had started :
"Yes, you scream while you sleep Grace."
Maybe it is time to have a little chat with Black.
The entire room was staring at her. Tom was staring too. But unlike the others who were worried and eager, he was calm. She scanned briefly the room, and once her eyes caught him, he raised an eyebrow, defying her to react.
She stood straight in her seat, dropped her quill and smiled.
"Let's hear you talk about it then." Grace finally said. "Explain us. Explain us the claustrophobia. The feeling of the walls caving in, the urge to break every one of them down, just to be able to breathe again.
Explain us the exhaustion, after weeks of barely sleeping. Explain us the anguish, the anguish of making too much noise. Knowing that every sound you make, even almost inaudible, may tell them where you are.
Explain us the scent. The scent of blood and flesh. The scent of death. Yes Walburga, tell us what death smells like. Then explain us the fear. The fear of noise, especially when the noise is escaping from your friend's mouth, bleeding to death. But also the fear of silence, because you don't know if you are alone and how come you're alone.
The fear of light, the one escaping from wands, but also the fear of darkness, the one leaving you all alone with your imagination. The fear of colours, the colour of the spell hitting you.
The fear of being too slow or too fast. The fear of being too nice, or too cruel. The fear of losing yourself or staying exactly the same.
The fear of leaving with your partner for rounds and coming back alone. The fear of talking to a friend not knowing if it will be the last time.
So tell us Walburga, tell us all about the guilt of being the only survivor."
04.09.1942
She could feel Thorus, besides her, holding his breath. Hermione saw the pity. The pity is their eyes, they were all looking at her with a mixture of admiration and sadness. Well everyone except him. No sign of pity nor empathy. Not even a glint of emotion in his eyes.
Then, he nodded.
OoOoO
Hermione was still slightly shaking as she walked toward her DADA class. She chose to walk alone, behind the rest of the class. Before entering the room, she ran a hand across her face and took a deep breath.
She was about to step inside the classroom but someone blocked her from entering. She looked at the person facing her.
"Miss Hortense, today is again a practical class. Are you in the right mind to participate ?" Merrythought asked her, concerned.
Is she asking you this because of the last practical class ? Or because of the article ? Or because of what happened in Binns' class ?
Are you in the right mind to participate Hermione ?
"I'm not." Hermione answered.
"There is no reason for you to attend the class then." She smiled kindly.
Hermione shyly smiled back.
"And after all, you will not learn anything new today." Merrythought added, praising her.
Hermione knew where she was going to go instead of attending DADA. She arrived on the seventh floor. Passed three times.
I need to see them. I need to see them. I need to see them.
The door appeared, she pushed it and entered their wagon on the Hogwarts Express. The one where they met, the one where they laughed, the one where they cried, the one where they argued, the one where they said hello and the one where they said goodbye. The number on the door was not always the same but the feeling never changed.
She could almost see Ron's freckles and Harry's messy hair. She could almost hear them laughing about Percy and talking about Quidditch. She could almost feel them, their presence. But something had changed. She looked around her, seeking out the wrong in the right.
She saw herself in the window. And she knew. She was the wrong in the right.
"I'm all alone." She laughed quietly. "They're not here. Harry and Ron aren't here."
It was the first time she had said their names out loud.
Then, she snapped.
"YOU LEFT ME HERE. YOU'VE ABANDONED ME. HOW COULD YOU DO THAT ?"
She threw her bag in the air. Its handle got caught into a luggage's corner and made it fall on the seats. It opened loudly. She took the belongings in it and threw them around, screaming at the top of her lungs towards her friends. Or rather the ghosts of her friends.
But they were not here.
She could not breathe, she was suffocating. She tore her tie away from her neck. She watched the cloth, its green colour testifying for her loss. She stopped. She was not mad at them. She was mad at herself.
She rose her head and stared at her reflection, again.
"You did so great Hermione. The brightest witch of your age. The mighty Hermione Granger, who saved Harry's precious life, more times than you can count. But no one's there to save you. No one's there when you fuck up. And you did fuck up. You fucked up big time."
She started crying.
"YOU FUCKED UP. COULDN'T YOU JUST FOLLOW THE GODDAMN PLAN ? IT'S YOUR FAULT. EVERYTHING IS YOUR FAULT. YOU FUCKED UP. YOU FUCKED UP. YOU FUCKING FUCKED UP."
She threw a punch at herself. She window broke in tiny fragments.
"It's my fault. Everything's my fault. I fucked up. I fucked up. I fucking fucked up."
She let herself sink to the floor. At this moment there was no green anymore, only red, crimson red. She laughed through her tears, unable to stop due to the irony of the situation.
The blood started to drench her white shirt. She ripped out her sleeve.
And there it was. Always there. Mocking her. Taunting her. Haunting her.
Mudblood.
She scratched it eagerly. The pain did not stop her. The blood did not stop her. But the laugh did. Strident, diabolical and deafening. She put her fingers in her hair, pulling it. She buried her head in her knees. She needed it to stop.
"I just want to go home. I just want to go home. I just want to go home." She cried like she did when she was a little girl.
A warm silence took over the laugh. She felt the comfortable mattress underneath her. She felt the reassuring linen against her skin. She smelled the familiar fabric softener. She knew where she was. Right where she belongs. Right, where she would come at night when she was little, scared, and looking for her parents. She was in their bed. She was finally home.
05.09.1942
"Do not worry, this spell is difficult to master and will take time to. We will be working on it until the end of seventh year." Dumbledore informed the class with his loud voice. "Miss Crestfellow, could you remind us the six steps to achieve a perfect Incarcerous ?"
The Hufflepuff rose from her seat : "The first step is to conjure a thin and short filament. The second one is the size of a shoelace. Then the size of a measurement tape." She stopped for a few seconds to think. "The fourth step is to cast a short but thick rope, then a thin but long rope. The last step is mastering the spell : conjuring a solid and long rope."
"Thank you Miss Crestfellow, 5 points for Hufflepuff. But you have made a little mistake. The fourth step is the thin but long rope and the fifth one is the short but thick." Dumbledore explained.
Esomilda Crestfellow turned a bright shade of red before sitting back in her chair.
"A lot of my students make this error." Dumbledore chuckled.
No. They do not.
This first hour of the class was purely theoretical. The professor explained in details, through diagrams, each step.
"We have one hour left, I would like you to try to master the first step. If you need any help, don't be shy." The red hair teacher smiled.
In
Car
Ce
Rous
In-car-ce-rous
Incarcerous
"Incarcerous." Tom cast.
A thread the size of a shoelace escaped his wand. He smiled. The other fifth years around him were only just able (for those who could) to conjure thin and short filaments. Tom glanced at Dumbledore and saw that the old man was already looking at him.
"10 points to Slytherin". He said, without any emotion. "I see you don't need help Tom."
Tom's gaze flew over the room and he analyzed the performances. He was glad to witness that the Slytherin house was doing better than the Hufflepuff.
"Well done !" He heard Dumbledore praise behind him.
He turned around. Thorus was smiling at the professor. "10 points to Slytherin thanks to Mister Nott. Perfect filament ! I would like you to start studying the next step's diagrams."
10 points ? For a thin filament ? I gave you an entire shoelace.
"Miss Hortense. It is our third class together and I have not yet heard the sound of your voice. You would care to try the first step ?"
Tom was waiting to see which step Grace would manage. After all, she was supposed to be the Transfiguration Club Vice-President back in France. But he was eager to witness the interaction between the professor and her.
She was sitting alone in her chair, at the back of the room. The professor was standing in front of her. She rose her wand slightly and flicked it.
Tom saw a dark shape escape from it and fly rapidly to the opposite of the room. It wrapped itself tightly around the mannequin standing in the right corner. It was thick and dark brown. It quite looked like a rope from a boat.
She already mastered the sixth step. Perfectly.
And yet, the professor did not hear the sound of her voice.
She turned her head to face Dumbledore waiting for him to say something.
"Impressive Miss Hortense." He said, trying to hide his surprise. "You are skilled at transfiguration. After all, Monsieur De Villières had talked to me about you."
Grace smiled.
But no points were awarded.
OoOoOo
At 3PM Tom left his Arithmancy class and headed towards the library for his one hour break before Potions. He got close to his usual table in the left corner. The other Slytherin were already there and chatting quietly. On his seat was laying an open book. He took it and rapidly scanned the pages.
Muggles studies.
Tom liked order, liked things being in the right place. He closed it and returned it to the muggle section.
He started working on his 10 inches DADA essay.
"Where's Hortense ?" Dolohov asked Isodor quitely, faking disinvestment.
"I don't know. Why would I know ?" The other one answered while continuing writing his essay.
"She's your friend isn't she ?" Antonin almost spat, full of disdain.
"I'm your friend and I don't care where you go."
Edmund laughed. Tom cleared his throat. Edgard elbowed Lestrange and gave him the look for him to stop.
"Where's Grace ?" Isodor asked Thorus discreetly.
He did not answered but turned toward Milton.
"Do you know where she is Milton ?"
"I don't know. What about you Abraxas ?" Milton said naively.
"The fuck you ask me, she's not my friend." Abraxas spat.
Tom violently closed his book, causing a loud noise. A silence settled.
"If you are not here to work, then leave."
Where are you Hortense ?
OoOoOo
The fifth year Slytherin entered the room for their last class : double potion.
"Everyone sit down please". The large professor demanded. The students obeyed.
Tom put his bag on his usual table and started taking his belongings out of it. In front of the class, just like last time, was Grace's desk. Her potion's possessions were already displayed on her desk and her book already opened.
"Draught of peace. Can someone tell me a little bit more about the potion you will brew today ?" He continued.
"It is a really difficult potion to brew, any mistake in the concoction may have drastic consequences. For instance, adding too much ingredients can put the drinker in a deep sleep state, possibly irreversible." Pax Zabini answered.
"Marvellous ! 10 points to Slytherin !"
Tom found this potion more interesting to make than the last one. It was delicate, it was precise, and he was meticulous. His potion followed exactly the change of colours expected : green, blue, purple, pink, turquoise…
She was cleaning out her table. She was tidying her belongings. She gave professor Slughorn a turquoise vial. Only fifty minutes. She only took fifty minutes. Tom was taken aback.
How ?
Turquoise ? It is not the final stage.
She gave the professor her best smile, he whispered something and she laughed quietly. His gaze followed her silhouette, leaving the classroom.
Why are you leaving ? You clearly messed up the potion.
You still have time. So why are you leaving Hortense ?
I may know you for just a week, but I know you care about your grades : you always start your essay as soon as you can, you always have the right answer in class and you have already passed your potion's OWLS.
So why are you leaving ? And why is he allowing you to leave ?
05.09.1942
Hermione opened the door in a small creek. The few people who were here were whispering, but no one was looking at her. The room was not what she remembered from her own timeline. The tables seemed new, the fireplace was being used and a warm light escaped from it. She had never seen the place like that, and even though it was welcoming, she did not feel at ease.
She automatically sat on one of the high stool. She took her scarf off and put it in the chair next to her.
"Welcome to the Hogshead, what can I get you ?" She heard the bartender ask.
"Firewhiskey." She answered determined.
He put a glass in front of her and poured the amber liquid. She took it and drank the first sip. The warmth of the alcohol burned her throat, but her face stayed emotionless, from habit. He discreetly watched over her.
In the future, he would never serve a minor.
"Rough day at school ?" Alberforth asked while wiping a glass.
"Rough couple of months you'd say."
He laughed softly. She drank up the entire glass and put it down.
"I hope you're not skipping any class while being here."
It was her turn to laugh.
"Only transfiguration." She lied knowingly, a small smile on her face.
He looked at her for a couple a seconds then poured another drink in her empty glass.
"This one's on the house." He commented, a genuine smile on his lips. "So, what are you looking for then ?"
What… ?
"...the funny bartender, the brooding bartender, the listening bartender ? The list goes on and on."
"What about just you being yourself ? I am kinda tired of people changing their personalities just for me. Be funny if you want to, brood if you need to and if you are interested you can always listen." She finished her glass. "But to be totally honest, what I am looking for in a bartender is for him to keep filling my glass."
"That, I can do"
She emptied another one and felt at ease.
Author's Note : First we are two writing this ff and we just realized that in the first 3 chapters one of us was writing "Hortense" with an "h" and we apologize for this mistake.
Secondly, we covered an entire week of school on purpose but don't worry it's moving faster in the next chapter !
Hope you guys like it !
- Agara
DDM's Manager