The Weak Fall First

It was late afternoon when Hermione walked back through Hogsmeade towards Hogwarts alone; Ginny was still looking for Malfoy’s mystery present. Why wouldn’t Ginny tell her what it is? Well if it makes her blush just thinking about it maybe I don’t want to know! She thought before quickly cutting off that line of thought before her imagination provided her with too vivid pictures. She imagined Harry’s face when she gave him his present - he would either love it or hate it. I hope he loves it she thought, suddenly doubting her choice, hoping it wouldn’t bring back too many bad memories.

“Hermione!” Harry called, jogging up to her from the direction of the shops. Hermione returned the grin he gave her and eyed the little bag he was carrying with interest. Harry, seeing her gaze, twitched the bag out of sight behind him, stopping her from reading the shop’s name on the front. His green eyes sparkled with amusement at the look of disappointment on her face. “Can’t show you that, or you’ll probably guess what it is!” he said, smile widening at her scowl.

“You could give me a clue.” Hermione suggested hopefully, eyes widening in a puppy-dog fashion. Harry just kept grinning and shook his head. “Come on Hermione, lets get back to school and you can help me with my potions essay!” he said and grabbed her hand. Hermione rolled her eyes and let him take her hand and tell her eagerly about his new ideas for the Gryffindor quidditch team as they walked.

Hermione first realised something was wrong when they approached the doors of the Entrance Hall. There was a cluster of third and fourth years back from Hogsmeade hovering in groups on the steps, all with pale faces. Hermione and Harry exchanged a puzzled look and walked towards them. As they got closer Hermione saw that two of the third year Gryffindor girls were crying, and the rest looked red eyed and scared. She frowned. This didn’t look good.

Harry went over to a group of fourth year boys to find out what was going on. After a few exchanged words Hermione saw Harry’s face become grave and his eyes widen. She quickly walked over to them and Harry turned to her, face chalky white. He just stood there looking at her for a few seconds before saying “Oh god Hermione. It’s Eric Reynolds. He’s… Hermione he’s dead!”

Harry saw the colour drain from Hermione’s face as he told her the news. “How?” she asked faintly, confusion and shock plain on her face. Harry shook his head slowly. “I don’t know” He gestured to the people around them, “They don’t know either, everyone’s really confused. Apparently there’s loads of rumours going round, but no one really knows what to believe. No one knows anything for certain other than he’s dead.”

Hermione nodded, staring back over the grounds, vacantly watching laughing students make their way back from Hogsmeade, not knowing yet what had happened. They won’t be laughing for long, not when they find out Hermione thought dully and sighed, bringing herself back to the present with a shiver. She put a hand on Harry’s arm. “Come on, lets go inside, it’s freezing out here. Someone will know what’s going on.” she said quietly.

“Yeah, but will they tell us?” Harry muttered darkly, remembering the secrets kept from him all his life.

Hermione stood still a moment longer, still not quite believing this could happen. This was Hogwarts. Hogwarts was safe, how could someone die here? She suddenly had a strange feeling that everything was beginning to go wrong. She couldn’t explain it, but she knew somehow that things had changed. As soon as Harry said that Eric Reynolds had died she felt it. She somehow knew that Eric’s dead was not an accident.

Ron was in the Entrance Hall waiting for them to come in. “Ron!” Harry called, hurrying over to him, noting the freckles standing out on his pale face. “Do you know what’s going on?”

Ron nodded, looking slightly sick. “It’s Reynolds, he… he’s in our quidditch team, the little kind in second year, you know?” Harry nodded and Ron, taking a shaky breath, continued. “They found him a few hours a go. His friends. He didn’t turn up for practice this morning did he. He slept in. He stayed in bed.”

Harry frowned slightly. “Ron you’re not making much sense. What happened to him?”

Ron blinked. “Didn’t I say? He died in his sleep. He always slept in ’til late on Saturdays, so his friends just left him asleep this morning and went down to breakfast and stuff. They said he looked like he was having a bad dream, tossing and turning, muttering to himself, but they left him anyway. Thought it was only a dream.” He stopped for a few seconds and then continued unsteadily. “They came back this afternoon, his friends I mean, and decided to wake him up. But he was already dead by then.” He finished, as white as a sheet.

Hermione glanced at Harry and saw the pained look on his face. “We should have woken him up” He said quietly. “I should have woken him up! This morning, when he didn’t turn up for quidditch. If I went back to wake him up to make him come to practice, he wouldn’t be dead now! I should have woken him up.”

Hermione just stared at him. How can he blame himself for this? she thought sadly. She grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around to face her, making him look at her. She saw the anger and guilt slowly begin to fade from his eyes.

“It was not your fault” She told him firmly. Ron nodded and spoke up. “She’s right mate. Don’t beat yourself up about this! You weren’t to know! Nobody knew! And even Madame Pomfrey doesn’t know how he died.”

Hermione blinked. Madame Pomfrey doesn’t know how he died?! Of course she knows! It’s surprising that everyone hadn’t worked it out by now! “Ron isn’t it obvious!” she exclaimed, fighting the urge to roll her eyes at him.

“What do you mean?” Ron said, frowning. “I don’t -”

Hermione stopped him with a sharp look as she noticed the other students in the Entrance Hall all focusing on their conversation; some trying to look as though they were doing something else, others staring openly, but all listening intently. Hermione wondered how much they had understood. She quickly replayed the conversation in her head and was relieved to find that none of them had said anything important. If someone so much as mentioned ‘dark arts’ today, the rumours would start to grow more dramatic, and very likely closer to the truth.

“We can’t talk here” Harry said, looking hard at a group of third years, sending them hurrying away with red faces. “C’mon” he said and led the way back to the common room. They walked in through the portrait hole and sat down by the fire, each wrapped up in there own thoughts, staring at the flickering flames.

Hermione noticed how quiet it was. A Gryffindor had died, no one wanted to talk at all. What was there to say?

A death at Hogwarts. That hadn’t happened for years. Not since the first time the Chamber of Secrets was opened fifty years a go by a young Voldemort. Of course, Cedric Diggory had died almost two years a go, and there had been the attack on the train at the start of the year, when many people died. But not actually in Hogwarts, not in the castle that had been considered the only safe place during Voldemort’s rein. Not here. That’s what made the difference. That’s why all the professors and students they passed on the way to the common room looked shaken and almost disbelieving. Hogwarts was where Albus Dumbledore was. Hogwarts was safe. But now was that safety and peace finally shattered?

It may take a few days, but eventually parents and students alike would begin thinking that Hogwarts wasn’t such a safe place after all. It was where Dumbledore was, and where Harry Potter was, and so was bound to be a target for attacks. How long before worried parents took their children out of school? How long until this was all over the papers? How long until the panic would start, how long until people finally realised what the they were up against? It wasn’t just Voldemort now, there was two threats. Would the wizarding world be crushed between them, could they really resist for long?

And people would soon wonder as to the cause of Eric Reynolds’ death, and it wouldn’t be long before the truth was found out. After all, Hermione had already worked it out. As soon as Ron said ‘he died in his sleep’ Hermione knew. Other people would soon realise what she had. It would come out about the dreamwalking and people would soon connect the dots.

Azalea Rookwood.

Hate boiled through Hermione in such a way that shocked her. She had never before felt this strongly about anything. Rookwood had attacked the Hogwarts Express, killing anyone she laid eyes on, whether they stood up to her or just didn’t get out the way fast enough. Children, teenagers, adults, any age - it didn’t matter to her.

Then she appeared in Hermione’s dream, threatening her.

And she had kidnapped her, kept her prisoner for weeks and took her blood to activate the Staff. By doing that she had unknowingly created a bond between the Staff and Hermione, Hermione could feel where it was, even though it was locked in Dumbledore’s office! She could point straight to it even now.

Hermione hated her for that more than anything.

And now she had killed a young Gryffindor boy, a seemingly random attack. Why him? There had to be a reason. Hermione was positive Rookwood was behind this. Eric had died in his sleep, struggling and muttering. Azalea was a Dreamwalker; someone who could enter the world of dreams, the Space, and bring people there herself. She could control and manipulate events there, her powers there only limited by what her imagination could dream up. Yes, Rookwood was behind this.

Hate replaced the fear inside Hermione and she no longer recoiled from the memories of her imprisonment at Rookwood’s Manor. She hated Azalea Rookwood with all her heart. She wanted her dead. And she wanted to be there when she died, to see it with her own eyes.

Hermione jumped as the logs on the fire suddenly crackled, and looked around her, remembering where she was. She began to feel uneasy about her thoughts. She didn’t want anyone dead! Of course not! Not anyone!

Abruptly she got up and went up to her dormitory to escape the oppressive silence of the common room. She was greeted by wan smiles from her friends and quiet hellos. Hermione smiled vaguely in return and quickly got into bed and pulled the hangings closed; she couldn’t bear to see any more ashen faces and red rimmed eyes. Deftly she performed the charm to ward her dreams from intrusions and settled down under her thick duvet, trying to turn her mind to quiet and peaceful thoughts, and eventually sleep came.

But still the hate swelled within her and filled her dreams.