WARNING: This story includes reference to religion. Please take into account that I'm in no way trying to preach to anyone about religion. If this offends you in anyway, I'm sorry.
Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! You all made me feel warm and fuzzy. Let's see, well, here's the next installment. This chapter is space filler, an evil part of fan fiction that I absolutely loath. Hope everyone enjoys, and remember, reviewing makes me happy! …Why didn't anyone tell me I spelled Voldemort's name wrong? One last note, I'm going on vacation for the next few days, so I won't be able to respond to all my lovely reviewers until then. Ta!
Disclaimer: Contrary to popular belief, I do not own Harry Potter or anything associated with it. I don't own Peter Cottontail, and the general concept of the story was taken from Alice Sebold's The Lovely Bones. I don't own Phantom of the Opera, and A Farewell To Arms belongs to Ernest Hemmingway. Emma belong to Jane Austen.
Claimer: A lovely mint green/brown/cream scarf.
Summary: Hermione's in Heaven, literally.
…Paper Soldier…
The dirt road I was walking on the night before is gone, and in its place a newly paved street with a large apartment building on the right, and a small, mint green cottage on the left. Behind the cottage, crashing upon a white shore, is the ocean. Foamy waves chase each other up the wet sand, leaving behind uneven lines. I turn to look at Sirius, curious as to why Heaven has suddenly changed.
"Everyone sees Heaven differently," Sirius explains, leading me towards the cottage. "The longer you stay here, the more you'll see."
"Oh," I nod, pretending this is all common knowledge to me.
Sirius shows me around the cottage, explaining various objects dotting the surprisingly large rooms. The kitchen is crammed with every imaginable food, and the living room is host to a large photograph of Harry, Ron, and myself above a roaring fireplace. In the back most room is a bamboo daybed with plush butter yellow covers, and large bookcases on either side, their shelves sagging under the weight of Muggle classics.
My stomach tightens, and I shut my eyes and inhale the familiar sent of an oceans breeze. It looks exactly like my bedroom. Down to the battered doll of Peter Cottontail nestled between two white pillows, and the Phantom of the Opera poster hanging to the right of the bay window. I turn to look at Sirius, and see him beaming at me.
"Mine?" I ask softly, not daring to believe that this is real.
"Yours," Sirius answers. "If you'll take it, that is."
I dash forward, my slim arms slipping around his thick build, and burry my face in his chest.
"Oh yes!" I exclaim, tears slipping down my flushed cheeks. Sirius pats my back awkwardly as I pull away. "Thank you."
My fingers run over the creased spines of novels I spent hours reading and rereading while still alive. Their worn leather covers send soft shivers through my body as I examine their dog-eared pages, with small notes written in the margins.
I pick up a copy of Ernest Hemmingway's A Farewell To Arms, a gift from a distant relative in The States, and flip through it's pages before setting it aside and taking in my hands the last book I received. Emma the thick gold letters read, the name Jane Austen in smaller letters beneath it. Letting out a shallow breath I slowly pull the dark brown cover back.
A stark white page stares up at me, and slowly, a loopy blue ink spreads across the blank surface. My breath catches in my throat as the letters appear, one by one, in slanted rows.
Princess--
It seems only yesterday I was pacing the waiting room of Crosshill Hospital, nervously anticipating your birth. I remember holding you in my arms, a small life, so fragile, depending on me in more ways than I was prepared for. I almost cried in delight when your brown eyes met mine. It was then that I knew I would love you forever, and if I had to go to the furthest depths of Hell to prove it, so be it.
I've watched you carefully over the years, taking in every bit of you I could. You don't know how hard it was for me to see you board that steaming red train that would take you away from me. Each year you'd come home, safe and unharmed--physically at least, and tell me of the great adventures you and your friends had engaged in. When you told me of your latest year I wanted more than anything to take you in my arms and never let go.
You must understand that it's an old man's dream to keep his only daughter safe. I suppose it would have been fruitless, trying to keep you safe, when you've given your heart to some boy I know has been associated with danger since birth. My only hope for you as you reach your sixteenth year is that you learn to live, love, and above all else grow.
Know that I loves you, and should you ever need this retired knight in his battered armor, he's only a call away.
--Daddy
* * * * * * *
Dumbledore stares out at the large expanse of forest barely visible in the setting sun. Across the room from him Harry and Ron sit in over stuffed chairs. Ron tosses Harry a look, unsure as to why they've been called to the Headmaster's office.
"Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore says softly, back still facing them. "I ask your patience please. It is difficult for me to present you with what I have, as I've learned it's the insignificant things that often hold the most meaning."
Ron looks startled for a moment before nodding his head. He blushes when he realizes Dumbledore can't see, and clears his throat. "Right."
Turning to face the two boys I've spent the last few years of my life with, Dumbledore slowly holds up a thin gold chain. It shines in the setting light of the sun, that slants through open windows. At the end, dangling in lazy circles over the desk, is a small pendent no larger than a thumb print.
"The Virgin Mary," Dumbledore says, lifting the necklace so that it comes to rest in his wrinkled hand.
My breath catches in my throat as both Ron and Harry stare at Dumbledore. My hand reaches up quickly to my neck. It's bare. Startled, I listen intently as Ron speaks.
"Er, Professor, what does the necklace have to do with anything?"
"Ah, young Weasley," Dumbledore grins. "This--" He holds the necklace out to Ron, who takes it gingerly in his hands. "--had little to do with anything. I merely thought one of you would like to keep it, as it was one of the last things Ms. Granger was wearing when we found her body."
I almost fall off my bed as Ron drops the necklace, as if he's been burned. It seems as if time has stopped as the chain falls through the air, its movement echoes through the air as it lands on the floor in a soft clatter. No one moves for one breathtaking second before Harry reaches down and picks the chain up carefully.
"Thank you, Professor," Harry says quietly, slipping my pendent into his pocket, the gold chain hanging out of its denim home as though reaching for air. With that he quickly stands, nods to both Dumbledore and Ron, then turns to leave.
It takes me a moment to realize where Harry's heading as he walks briskly down various corridors. My chest begins to ache as he comes to stand before my resident table in the library. I want to scream when my vision fuzzes over and all I can see in the white walls of my room.
Reaching for the nearest object, I throw it at the wall. The small doll slides down the white surface, landing just beside my desk. My stomach turns, and a sense of satisfaction overcomes me as I pick up another object, throwing it at my lamp this time.
The lamp crashes to the ground, bathing my room in darkness. A strangled cry escapes my throat as I leap off my bed and begin to pull volume after volume from my bookshelves. They crash to the floor, heavy and bruised. Pages rip and covers flip open, revealing typed page after typed page.
I hate the fact that I feel so useless. How I can't help Harry or Ron no matter how much I long to be there. With a gasping breath I let out a scream to rival that of a banshee's and tear the butter colored comforter off my bed, tossing it into an unknown corner. As I reach for Peter Cottontail the door to my room swings open and Sirius stares at me in shock. Behind him is a man who looks exactly like Harry, only older.
"Harry?" I ask, before over exhaustion consumes me and I crumple to the floor.
* * * * * * *
"Put this on," A female Death Eater commands, throwing a white dress at me.
I shiver as I slide the silk robe I'm wearing from my shoulders and slip the dress on. It's smooth and cool against my skin, which is still burning from the excruciatingly hot bath I've been forced to take. My hands shake, and I fumble over the pearl buttons up the side of the tight bodice.
My wet hair clings to my skin as I sit on the lone chair of the room. I don't speak for fear of being hurt again. The Death Eater looks at me and clicks her tongue.
"It's a shame your blood is dirty," She says, coming to run a hand down the side of my face. I want to vomit as her hands cup my face. "My Lord want you fixed up for the ceremony."
I sit quietly, eyes shut tight as she mumbles various incarnations. Some of them I know, as Pavarti and Lavender use them when getting ready.
Something wet slide down my cheek, and I feel hot breath smelling of liquor on my lips, now stained a dark cherry red. My eyes snap open, and I'm met with the pale, pointed face of Lucius Malfoy.
"Filth," He growls, pulling away from me and turning to the female Death Eater. "Bella, do see that you get her to the grounds in an hours time."
With a swish of his crisp black robes he disapparates from the room. Bella looks at me in disdain before conjuring up a chair for herself and sitting opposite me for the remaining time. Above me I can faintly hear wizards and witches arriving. Time passes slowly as I formulate plan after plan in my head, the last one more ridiculous than the one before.
"Bella," A strict voice calls from the top of the stairs. "Bring the Mudblood up."
With a long sigh, Bella curses whomever had called down and pulls me up from the chair. She pushes the tip of her wand forcefully into my right shoulder, directing me up the creaky stairs and into a large dinning hall.
If I wasn't so frightened I would take in the architecture of the old manor. A large crown of jeering Death Eaters stops me from walking further, and it isn't until Bella shoves me forward that I enter the hall completely. The crowd roars with harsh laughter as I stumble over the end of my gown, and fall to the stone floor. A sharp pain slides through my palms and knees, and I know my palms are bleeding from the thin scrapes I've no doubt received.
My eyes dart around the room as I quickly stand, coming to rest on a shadowed figure sitting atop a throne of bones. They nod their head in greeting towards me, before holding up a hand to signal for silence. The crude remarks and catcalls stop in an instant, and the figure stands.
I shake in anticipation as they walk forward, the torch light casting shadows on their face. Pale, rotting flesh peeks out from black robes that seem darker than any I've ever seen. Their face looks as though it's peeling, with a flat nose that has two slits for nostrils and thin lips.
"You look just like her," Voldemort hisses as he circles me slowly. "You have here eyes, her mouth, even her smarts. But there's one thing you're lacking, and that's her blood."
I flinch away as a long, pale fingers come up to caress my check. Voldemort's eyes glare down at me, two red slits on rotten skin.
"Do you fear me?" He asks amusedly as his hand travels down my neck and rests on my shoulder. I shake my head. He just smiles and leans forward. His face hovers inches above mine, and it takes all my strength not to cry. I clench my fists, my whole body tightening. Voldemort steps back, a hollow laugh escaping his lips. The group of Death Eaters surrounding us join in the laughter.
"My Lord," Malfoy says as he steps forward before quickly falling to one knee. "Perhaps you can grace the Lady with a kiss."
Loud shouts of approval follow Lucius' request. I take a frightened step back, and stumble on the white gown I've been put in. Voldemort laughs and pulls me close.
"Close your eyes," He whispers harshly, his grip on my arms sure to bruise. "And imagine your orphan boyfriend."
His lips crash onto mine, dry and chapped. I shut my eyes tightly, tears leaking down my cheeks to fall from my chin. Voldemort pulls away before placing searing kisses along my jaw line.
"Your filth," He hisses, pulling back to look into my eyes. My body is tense, and I don't dare breath. "It's no wonder that boy chose you."
His hands come to rest on my shoulders, and he pushes me back. I brace myself to land on the hard floor, but am surprised when I land atop something incredibly soft. I sit up, realizing I'm on a rather expensive looking mattress. My mind momentarily goes blank as two large looking Death Eaters step forward from the crowd.
No!, my mind screams over and over again as I struggle to stand. I choke on the word as four hands reach to pull me down. I can barely make anything out through the haze of tears, and I can faintly hear Voldemort demanding a hot iron.
My eyes snap open, eyes watering. My chest heaves as a breath tears through my body, burning as it fills my lungs. I turn on my side, coughing hard as a soothing hand comes to rub my back.
"Hermione?" Sirius asks as I curl into a ball. I blink slowly, eyelids heavy. My room is neat again, bookshelves just as they were before my breakdown. "What happened?"
I make to sit up slowly, but lie back down when a pounding works away at the back of my skull. Something cool touches my forehead, and I look up to see Sirius dabbing a wet cloth against my forehead. My fringe soaks, sticking to my skin as my eyes land on the other occupant of the room.
He's tall and lanky, with messy black hair and glasses identical to Harry's. His eyes are a warm brown, and he offers a lopsided smile when I catch his eyes.
"Hermione, right?" He asks, his voice coming out soft. The words linger in the air, waiting patiently to be answered. I nod.
* * * * * * *
* * * * * * *
Ok, before anyone begins thinking that Hermione's going to be raped in front of a group of Death Eaters, she's not. So, review…please?