Chapter Four:
In the small confines of the stall in the girl's lavatory, I change into the unflattering uniform that takes away all opportunities for self-expression. Of course, most girls doll themselves up in layers of makeup, but my goal is to remain unattractive, unnoticed. Unfortunately, my current friendship with Harry Potter has stolen most chances for that. Why Hervana advised me to do so, I will never know. Despite this, I take out a pocket mirror and look myself over. I don't have to look terrible. Satisfied, I stuff it into my robe pocket.
Sighing at the cruelty of it all, I exit the cubicle and head out the swinging door, wand clasped tightly in my hand. The corridors of the train are deserted. That's no surprise. Most students wait till the last minute to change. Conversation from within the compartments give me somewhat of a comfort knowing that I'm not alone on the train. It so empty that it's unnerving. Ah well, nothing to worry about.
The lights are flickering. That's unusual. Shrugging it off, I continue towards the Prefects' Lair. The train jerks violently and causes the balance that I treasure to snap in two. The wand flies out of my right hand as I fall forward not as gracefully as I would like, but then, who would?
Silence, pure silence. Everyone has been sucked into this dimension where sound does not exist, only fear. I feel myself shivering. The temperature has dropped unto one that is freezing and unreal. I wish that I could get up and take shelter into the nearest compartment, but my body has become numb to the point of no return.
Silvery breath exits from my mouth in a fantasy like swirl. Fairies dancing my grandmother would say, fairies dancing.
I hear the swish of a cloak from behind me. I pray to god that it is not who I think it is. A sense of daring is overcoming me as the feeling in my limbs return. I quietly press me palms against the hardwood floor and begin to push against it. Just as my chest reaches a few inches above the ground. Something presses against my back thus pushing me back down roughly. My cheek hits the floor and a bruise is slowly forming upon it.
Someone is kneeling beside me while keeping a hand forcefully atop me, almost possessively.
"Wonderful disguise Ms. Granger, but I can see right through it." A voice whispers in my ear. The emphasis on my name shows that I cannot fool everyone with my well planned out rouse. Not everyone is tricked by a concealment charm and a good actress. Well, even that is open for debate.
"Who are you?" I choke out. When nervous, all rational thought disappears. Even the mightiest of all must fall under certain circumstances and this is one of them.
"You honestly don't remember me Sierra? I'm hurt. Especially after the claims of me being the worst traitor known to man." I'm in a state of shock I know exactly who he is...
"I refuse to say a name that hurt me so." A whispered chuckle.
"Isn't that a shame? What if we create a proposition?" He heaves me from the floor and lifts himself and I into a standing position. I'm facing away from him, but I'd rather not see his face. The memories of betrayal to strong within my mind.
"What kind of proposition?" I'm making a deal with the devil and there is no going back.
"You say my name and I won't take you to your true friends and reveal you secrets." He whispers the ending. Hot breath reach the back of my neck, spine tingling in response. That has never happened before. Impossible, unless he isn't human anymore.
"Pass. That is cruel." Maybe I really belong in Gryffindor. Oh, wait. A Gryffindor wouldn't be terrified of an old friend. The Sorting Hat was wrong. Perish the thought.
Another whispered laugh that only reaches my reluctant ears. "The Slytherin Ice Princess attitude returns. Come." I'm pulled away to the opposite direction of my original destination.
It amazes me how ignorant my pupils are. No one notices the dark figure leading another down the corridor. This disturbs me.
Finally, he stands me in front of a compartment. Where Harry and the others reside. How wonderful.
A cloaked arm reaches for the handle and slides in open quickly, but quietly. What a disappointment, I was hoping for him to bang it open thereby attracting attention. Why even hope anymore? All my wishes and dreams have been dashed.
"Hermione? What's going on?" Ah yes, please state the obvious Ron! We all are too stupid to notice.
"Let her go." Harry to the rescue. I wouldn't mind him pointing a wand at an old, betraying, friend, if he even had a chance. In this case however, he doesn't. Pity.
"I bring a message from the Dark Lord and what better way to present it with an old friend of mine." Is that the reason he's here? No, it's a lie. He's here for something else, but I cannot fathom what.
"You know him?" Harry Potter is bewildered. Must remember to write this in history books.
"Unfortunately." Another daring move. Maybe if I shut my mouth I'll live to see eighteen. Actually, I would be happy to see tomorrow. The library has never been more inviting.
"I'm hurt Hermione. I thought we were friends." He's breathing on my neck heavily. Must of been a long journey. Ginny and the others are paralyzed. Can't really blame them though.
"We used to be." I look upon the floor, lost in thought. We could've still been.
Another calm, amused laugh. I hate this. Just talking to him is torture. "I still love you Hermione." I didn't expect this.
"Shut up! She doesn't even know you!" Neville has found his voice. I am so proud of him. (Note the sarcasm please.)
"I beg to differ. I've known her before you have and I need to send a message to the oh so great Harry Potter." A sneer of hatred. Angering him will do no good.
"Then speak and let Hermione go." A flash of worry behind his green eyes that show pity and... Terror? Oh Harry, please don't let your bravery be taken. You are my last hope. There I go again, with hope. I might as well create my will. I'll die soon anyways.
"I don't think so. You see, unless your little friend here, says my name, there is no releasing her." I can't say it, I can't say it. A mantra that refuses to come out of my mouth.
"Well then. Hermione, say it!" He coaxes me again and again, slowly losing his patience. "JUST SAY THE DAMN NAME!" Wonderful, why doesn't he just broadcast my position hmm?
"I won't." Firm words spoken so that it even surprises me. I was sure it would come out as a weak and pathetic stutter. Although, I'm not complaining.
"You won't? Isn't that a shame." He's leaning closer to my neck. "I suggest that you change your decision, Hermione."
"Get away from her!" Ginny is using the old Weasley temper. Shame it doesn't work on him.
"And what will you do about it?" He doesn't leave my neck, but opens his mouth and brushes his canines against the creamy skin. They aren't normal.
I reach into my pocket, but he grabs my wrist, stopping me from doing so.
"What are you looking for?"
"Not my wand, I swear. I just need to get something." Fluttering my eyelashes innocently while speaking this. Flirting with him, surprisingly, works. His grip has dissipated and I am free to grab the pocket mirror that I stowed away earlier. With shaking hands, I can feel his amused gaze as I open it to reflect the scene over my shoulder. Nothing. Nothing but the sliding door.
I drop it in shock, the sound of the shatter echoing about. My eyes wide open with fear, I hear him speak, holding back another chuckle. Now, he does frighten me. Now, he does.
"Bravo Hermione. You have discovered my secret. Say my name, or you will experience more excruciating pain, then you have in a long time." I stiffen under his stare, his touch, his breath. There is no use in fighting, my wand has been flung down the corridor, and he has the advantage. The rest are no help either.
Make a decision Sierra. Fight and become undead, or kiss and live. I choose the latter. I can't believe I'm doing this twice in a day, but they are the only distractions I can think of.
Draco, if you ever see me again as me, I am so sorry.
Twirling around in his arms, I look upon him, into sea green eyes I saw so much as a child. They are filled with interest and lust. No surprise. Suddenly, he descends his lips upon mine. Well, at least I didn't begin it.
This kiss is far from gentle, different than Draco's, but familiar to me. I have kissed him before, I admit it. Although, he was my boyfriend then. Before I met Draco, before he betrayed us, before I died.
He pushes me up against the compartment wall as the rest watch in horror. Their friend is snogging the enemy, what a wonderful sight. However, I would rather see it then experience it. His hands holding my arms above my head. He has been wanting this for a while.
Then, gray eyes flash in front of my closed ones. Filled with hurt and fury. I can't do this anymore, I can't. Sorrowful dew drips from my eyes as it continues. He either doesn't notice, or doesn't care. This is going to far for too long.
Pulling away, I lean forward and whisper into his ear, "Michael Zabini." A smirk of triumph crosses his face. It sickens me. I have given him two of the things he wants, the last, is just to much to bare.
He brings down my now bruised wrists and leaves a crumpled parchment within my tiny and frail hand. I must begin eating once more. Depriving myself of such things have no point.
This time, he returns a message, telekinetically:
"Goodbye Sierra, but next time, don't use me as a diversion. No matter how much I enjoy or want it." That's the last thing I hear before he fades from existence without a sound.
Francesca's P.O.V
The lights slowly return from their extinguished state. Something is wrong. That Hermione girl has not returned, and I have grown a liking to her. She is withholding a secret. A dark one if I'm correct. She may believe that her act is convincing to all, but I am not one to be so easily fooled.
The shock and loneliness on her face when she saw us walk in with all pride seemed familiar. I've seen it before. The sudden kiss to Dean as soon as we re-entered the compartment. You cannot hide behind walls from me. Was she the one seeing through Draco's eyes? Possible, but very unlikely. No one except one is powerful enough to do that and she is deceased. Maybe she does hone a crush on the artist, as does he, but the sudden action still puzzles me.
Draco has never stopped mourning since he began seven years ago. I haven't been holding up well myself, but the are for two different reasons. At such a thought, I finger the concealed area around my left wrist. A concealed mark of self-inflicted pain. I promised Cleo and the others I would stop, but it had become a escape for me ever since the beatings and harsh words began at age nine.
Yes, a young age to have seen so much. Innocence from violent mind do not exist to me. I have seen and experienced bloodshed, but have not become one with a cold heart. I greet everyone with a fake smile and little care for my well-being, but no one needs to find out. Right?