Chapter 2: Returning to a place which I never knew..
It was the day of the final battle that it happened. I had still managed to not tell Harry or Ron of my unfortunate karma and except for one or two knowing looks from Remus and Professor Snape, I had not thought about what or what not Voldemort might really want.
Ok, that's a lie. I had been going mad over it. Mad - angrily confused - but at the same time grateful of Snape's and Remus's choice to tell me. It would seem that all the other members of the Order knew as well, all except from Harry, Ron and of course the ever so irresponsible Weasley-twins. After the confession, I was able to read it all in their faces. The Order members faces that is. Seeing the quizzical looks that I befored had not taken time to notice.
Today though, they didn't matter. All I wanted, was for me and my allies to come out of this mess somewhat alive and preferably at the winning side.
"This is it," Ron had said, taking my hand in his and giving it a reassuring squeeze. I had returned it, turning my head towards him just the tiniest bit and sending him an anxious smile, that held more similarities to a grimace.
Then, somehow, I ended up alone. Battling an arrogant Dolohov in a teared down corridor in Hogwarts.
"See how you like this mudblood!" he yelled and threw a orange spell at me. Undoubtedly painful if it was to reach my body. Luckily, I was able to put up a charm and the spell bounced right back to Dolohov who with a lazy gesture made it dissolve.
It was then I felt it. A dark, forbidding presence enveloped me and black smoke blurred my vision.
"Good afternoon, Miss Granger," I heard and I turned around, already knowing which sight waited me.
And there he stood. Closer up than I ever had seen him. I can't say that all that soul-splitting had done a whole lot of good for his looks. He had lost all the pigment of his skin and the eyes were, as commonly known, a terrifying shade of red. Instead of a nose he only had two holes at the middle of his face and his thin lips were turned up, holding the most uncomfortable of smiles.
"I've been expecting you," he says.
I'm trembling, feeling my nerves so hard I am surprised they have not jumped out of my skin yet. Still, I manage to put on, what I like to think, is a brave face.
"Is this your version of a tea party then?" I ask, wanting to call him Tom in that demeaning way which Harry manages, but not daring to.
He smiles even harder. 'Harder' because smiling seems hard to him. He fingers his wand in a thoughtful way. I stand ready. Anticipating his strike.
"Hermione. You have not changed. I am almost sorry to send you back." He steps forward and I instinctively take a step back, to his amusement.
With the hand that is not holding his wand he picks up one of the curls of my hair. Separating the hair gently against his thumb and index finger while looking at me with an intense stare. I stand still, not because I want to, but because I find myself unable to move. After I had stepped backwards I had tried to strike, feeling my body being restrained from doing so. Now I am only focusing on breathing. On not panicking. Trying to analyse his stare while wanting to turn my head away. Not wishing his ugly face to be the last thing I see in life.
"But then again. I will see you soon. Take care, Hermione," he says and I panic as I see dark flakes of magic evapourating from his wand, laying itself gently upon me, until there is nothing more, than a white light.
I wake up at the nursery in Hogwarts. Recognizing the smell of boiled dragon's tail and seeing a characteristic yellow light dip in through the big windows. I merely have time to sit up when I hear a boy's hysterical cry: "Miss Marple, Miss Marple, she's awake now!"
Gently, I turn my head to see a blackhaired boy sitting at a stool at the foot of my bed. He has turned his entire torso away in order to call upon this Miss Marple. When he looks upon me again I can see a light blush spread across his cheeks, like he has been playing in the snow. He can not be more than fifteen or sixteen. A little bit bony, but quite long, even while sitting. His eyes shines with overexcitement as he scrutinizes me and I think that is what makes him look so very boyish - puppylike almost.
"Quiet down Oliver, unless you want to wake up the rest of the castle too." A plump woman with blond curls and a white robe appears from behind the drapes. She gives Oliver an irritated glare, to which he responds to by becoming more red. But I don't miss the fondness of that glare either, like a caring mother scolding her child.
Then her eyes falls upon me, looking me up and down as if checking for injures. I want to ask where Miss Pomfrey is but a gut feeling tells me I should hold my tongue. I give a timid smile, which the woman returns with a big, bright one.
"Overall you seem fine Miss, if not for a few superficial wounds, which I took the liberty of treating. How do you feel?"
My mouth and throat are achingly dry I notice, and I move my tongue in order to collect saliva before answering.
"Exhausted," I say, honestly so.
She laughs and the blackhaired boy giggles.
"It's excpected. You've been out of it for nearly twentyfour hours. Oliver here," she points at the boy who smiles nervously, "-found you in the Astronomy tower the night before and has been guarding you ever since."
Letting the words sink into my head I turn to look upon the boy and say: "That's very kind of you."
He blushes slightly.
"I was just doing my job," he replies. "I'm a prefect you see." He proudly points at the badge. Undoubtedly an Hogwarts prefect and student. How come I have never seen him before?
"Excuse me, Miss, which year is this?" I ask after a little while of them both watching me.
Miss Marple squints her eyes as if considering to add amnesia to my journal. "The year is 1945, why do you ask?"
I keep my eyes from falling out of my head. Merely nodding lightly while drinking the cup of water she has handed me. I swallow while feeling both of them stare at me intensly.
"Just checking," I say and give a reassuring smile. Miss Marple nods and goes away to check on another patient who's face I can not see for the drapes, but who has his leg in a cast.
"And you Miss, where are you from?" Oliver asks then. Bending forward so he has his elbows on his knees. I notice he have a hard time sitting still in his chair.
"I'm from Toulouse," I lie. Quickly building up a story in my head. "It's in the south of France."
"You don't sound french," he says, almost accusingly, which he probably hears himself because he bites his lips in regret right after.
"My parents are English, we moved when I was six."
"Oh, I see. Were you a victim of the war then?"
I draw a quick breath through my nose at the bold question.
"The war," I say under my breath, looking emptily at the white sheet of my bed. "Yes, I was in the war."
Oliver's eyes grows bigger as he leans forward so much I think he is about to fall off the chair. "My parents died in the war," he whispers. "They volunteered to fight against Grindewald, but they died at his wand in Germany." He looks blankly at the floor, his face holding a well-hidden sort of sadness.
"I'm so sorry," I say, honestly. Not wishing to see any more pain than has already been forced upon me.
"That's okay," he then says, his tone remarkably cheerier. "It was a long time ago now."
"So may be it, but those kind of scars take a long time to heal," I say for no reason at all. Do I want to further depress the boy?
His bright smile faints slightly, but remains. "And you? Have you lost anyone in the war?"
That question makes my insides twist. Yes, who have I lost? Which ones were hit by a green light when I was not looking?
"I don't know yet," I reply weakly.
Thankfully, the boy just nods his head in understandment.
For a while, we just sit in silence, Oliver is watching me and I try to avoid his stare, constantly rearranging the white cover over my body. Suddenly a man, who holds a great similarity to a frog, comes into view. The holes which holds the buttons to his robe are stretched out in order to hold his round belly, which swayes to the sides as he walks. His face lacks countors and his nose is too small on the floating face. But he gives out an aura of being friendly, if not a little dumb.
"Good evening Miss, my name is Professor Dippet, I am the headmaster of this school," he says, stopping at the foot of my bed. "You wouldn't by any chance know where you are would you?" His voice is extremely perky.
"Hogwarts, is it not professor?" I half ask, thinking it won't be weird if the fake-me of this age are aware of the headmaster of the greatest wizarding school in Britain.
"Hogwarts indeed," he says. "Do you know how you came to be found in the Astronamy Tower Miss..?"
"Walters," I add. Saying the first name I can think of. "Hermione Walters. And no, I'm sorry Sir, I don't. I was in the war – in France – and suddenly.." I trail off. He does not delve further into it.
"Very well then, Miss Walters. May I be as rude as to ask for your age as well?"
"I'm seventeen, Professor." It's a lie, I'm eighteen by now, but I wish to secure a place at the school, if he is offering me one.
"And are you educated?"
"I was homeschooled, Sir," I say. Quickly deciding that my father was a wizard and my mother a muggle. Not wanting to fully stray away from my heritage, but compensating a little for the sake of my story.
"Do you think you can manage the seventh-year level?" he asks me, with a concerned frown. I have to hold back the urge to snort.
"Of course, Sir."
"Excellent. Then if you don't have anywhere to go, Miss Walters, I think we can manage to offer you a place at our school. Of course, you're free to go to relatives if.."
"I don't have relatives, Professor," I quickly interject.
The frown on his forehead appears again and he looks at a spot directly behind my head.
"No, no.. then you are welcome to stay here Miss Walters. Of course you have to take a test so we can assure that you are at a N.E.W.T-level, but other than that, feel free to roam the castle."
His thin lips then gives of a warm smile.
"Thank you very much, Sir. It is very kind of you."
He waves his hands in the air.
"Nothing to speak of dear, nothing at all.. Now.." and he turns to Miss Marple to interrogate her further on my injures and the circumstances of which I were found. Oliver gladly adds a line or two to the story and I am amazed to hear that his bony body has been able to carry me all the way from the Astronomy Tower to the nursery. Thinking he would have been better off using a levitating spell, I turn to my side in an futile attempt to fall asleep. Not wanting to think about the thoughts which, in my solitude, begins to form in my head. All circulating around the fact that Voldemort, willingly, has sent me to attend Hogwarts at his final year of school.
When sleep comes, it is already dawn.
A/N: The obligatory chapter. Not really that exciting, but quite necessary.