Torn

DISCLAIMER: Do I still have to make one?

A/N: I've received many reviews asking what `big news' Ron is going to hear. I thought I was much clearer in the chapters and I apologize for the confusion. The BIG NEWS is Hermione's madness. So Ron has been finally told and here's his reaction.

As always all of your reviews are encouraging and wonderful and I thank you all. But first: Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! Consider this as my belated Christmas gift and my not quite New Year present. Hope everyone is having some awesome holiday times. And I also hope that this chapter is alright. Enjoy.

******

Well. He was certainly taking it well. As well as one can expect anyway. He wasn't shouting. He wasn't screaming. Actually he wasn't even talking. He just sat there and stared. Ron opened his mouth a few times and it was in those moments that Harry felt himself tense, but Ron only shut his mouth and continued to look at Hermione. Harry looked at her and wondered how she was taking Ron's reaction, but she too said not a word, waiting with baited breath and returning Ron's unmoving stare. Harry's hands itched to do something but he dared not move.

The room was wreathed with silence for what seemed to Harry ages. Then in a flurry of movement, Ron suddenly jumped to his feet, his eyes never leaving Hermione, and he blinked and walked out of the room. The sound of the door shutting roughly behind him made Hermione jump and she looked down at her hands. Harry stared incredulously at the shut door, not believing what Ron had just done. He turned to Hermione but was just as surprised to see her with her eyes closed, her mouth formed into a thin line, and her hands neatly folded on her lap as if she was expecting the reaction Ron had given them. He noted that Hermione looked as if she knew exactly what was going to happen next. Not able to keep still any longer, Harry stood abruptly but Hermione raised a hand and he paused. With her other hand she turned to the door, raised her wand and whispered a spell, and what looked to be a bubble emanated from her wand. It sped through the closed door, encasing whoever stood behind it in a sound proofed bubble.

Harry's shoulders sagged. He didn't have to hear Ron's shattering roar of fury, and the bubble made sure of that. The door suddenly burst open to reveal an enraged Ron, face as fiery as his flaming hair, pushing his way through the bubble, marching into the room, and slamming the door shut behind him. His eyes, mirroring the look of a frightened child, focused on Hermione and pleaded for her to tell him that this was just one stupid, horrible joke concocted out of extreme boredom and a random bout of nastiness. His name managed to quiver from Hermione's throat but Ron cut her off as he swiftly made his way to Hermione, who stood to meet him, and wrapped his arms around her in a fierce hug.

“He's not taking you away. He can't do that. We won't sodding let him!” he said ferociously as he clung to her.

Harry slowly sank back onto the sofa and averted his eyes from the pair. It's my fault. It's all my fault. He thought to himself over and over again, resting his elbows on his knees and burying his head in his hands.

Ron clung to Hermione as if she would melt away without warning and he shook his head sternly as he said, “No. No, we won't- you can't be- this isn't…No.”

Then just as suddenly as he burst into the room, he let go of Hermione and wheeled towards his best friend on the couch. “Harry, you sodding idiot!” he shouted. “Look what you've done!” he jerked over to Harry, grabbed a fistful of his robes and pulled him towards him roughly. “LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE!” he roared.

Harry only stared unblinkingly back at Ron, as if he deserved everything. Horrified, Hermione raced over to them and tried to pull Ron off of Harry shouting, “Ron stop it! Let go of him! Stop!”

With a final tug she managed to convince Ron to let him go, but Harry looked up at them dejectedly. “No, Hermione. He's right-”

“No he most certainly is not!”

Ron turned to Hermione, eyes wild with grief. “You're going to…If we don't find a cure- if we don't find a way you're going to…”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and his face crumbled.

Hermione gripped Ron's arms. “I'm going to die. Just say it Ron. If we don't find a way to stop him, then yes. I-I'm going to die.”

“No you fucking won't,” Harry said brokenly and he jumped to his feet and scrambled to her. He took her in his arms and pressed his forehead to hers as if trying fuse his thoughts into her. “Don't you say that. You won't. I won't let you. You won't.”

“But it could happen, Harry. It could. Everyone dies.”

“But not now! Not yet! I just found you! I just- not now,” Harry said with a voice tinged with desperation.

Hermione gently pulled herself away from him. “I know. Listen. Let's not talk about death right now, but let's not ignore it. It could happen, but that's if we don't find a way. And we will.”

“Yeah,” Ron nodded. “Yeah, and McGonagall could be wrong, right?” he said hopefully.

Hermione shook her head sadly. “No, Ron. What we learned in Transfiguration is the absolute truth.”

Ron fell onto the couch and ran a trembling hand through his hair. “Right, so. What do we know about Somnium Gradior?”

Hermione glanced at Harry, who nodded to her and smiled encouragingly before taking a seat in the armchair. She went into her bag and pulled out several rolls of parchment.

“Ever since I found out I've been going to the library, researching.”

Harry nodded. Everything was making sense now.

It's all my fault.

“And what do we know so far? What are the effects?” Ron asked.

Hermione licked her lips. “It starts off subtlety, with voices and shadows only seen and heard by the…victim.”

Harry swallowed. “And have you…”

“Yes.”

It's all my fault.

“Voldemort has complete control over me. He could control my words, my actions. I tried telling Professor Dumbledore-this was before you accident Harry- and I just…couldn't. It then moves on to control through dreams. Once that passes, the voices and shadows should grow into actual people. So think… schizophrenia. I can see and interact with these images but they're only real to me. To everyone else, I'm talking to nothing at all.”

“Can they hurt you?” Harry asked.

“I can only hurt myself,” Hermione answered.

This was met with silence. Ron looked at Hermione's detailed notes.

• Victim loses sense of realism.

• Victim not able to decipher difference between illusion and reality. (ie. people/actions)

He rifled through the pages and the first point on a certain page sent a jolt through him.

Final stage = coma.

“What's this bollocks?” he said tossing the parchment onto the table.

“What?” Hermione asked.

“This. What you wrote. Final stage equals coma. What's that supposed to mean?”

Harry started at Ron's words and made a grab for the parchment on the table but Hermione scooped it up.

“It means exactly what it says. Professor McGonagall covered the stages, Ron. You should remember them.”

“Don't give me that sodding N.E.W.T. lecture. You know I wasn't paying attention. Now what's that mean? Final stage equals coma.”

“It means that the final stage…” she swallowed before continuing and avoided Harry's eyes. “that down the road control will be complete and it would too much for my body to handle and I'll fall into a sedative state.”

“Of unconsciousness?!” Ron shouted.

“Yes. Ron. And… you both know what happens after that…”

Harry wanted to gather her into his arms and never let her go. There was a childish thought hidden in the deep folds of his mind that if he only held her to him then He wouldn't get to her. He wouldn't take her. Nothing could happen to her as long as he held her. Harry sighed. He wished this thought was true. The fact was that even if this thought held any inkling of truth, Hermione would never let him do it. She wouldn't be coddled. She wouldn't just sit there and allow him to encase her in an attempt to shelter her from harm whilst he took all the damage. She would stand and fight and would only back down if Voldemort cut off her limbs, silenced her thoughts and left her deaf, blind and mute. Then again, this was Hermione. Harry knew that she'd somehow find a way to fight back. Knowing all of this however, he still wanted to hold her. If he couldn't do that now then the least he could do was support her, and Harry knew that at the moment that was exactly what she needed. She needed them to stop grieving and help her. It's all my fault. He thought as he stood and knelt by the table where Hermione stood.

“What have you got so far?” Harry asked.

Hermione looked gratefully at him and opened a book. “It says here that Voldemort would need a source and a token. Now I think that the girls he's been taking are the source.”

Ron leaned forward to scan the book. “But how would he be using them?”

“I'd think it'd be their blood. He probably drains them each time he has to Walk,” Harry said.

“But they're so young,” Ron whispered not knowing who he was addressing. No one knew what to say to this.

It's all my fault.

“And the token?”

Hermione fingered the ring that hung on a chain around her neck. Ron looked at her gesture. It took him a moment for him to realize and when he did his eyes widened. Harry too looked rather surprised.

“You don't mean-”

“It's my ring. Voldemort must have managed to get a hold of it when he… took my parents.”

“Can't you just take it off?” Harry asked.

In answer, Hermione turned to another book. “It says here that the spell connects me to the source. It's very old magic. This holds me to those girls and keeps Petra, the main source, alive. She's being drained everyday and her magic essence is transferred to this ring. I take it off, I break it and it releases what's hers. She has to be here. I have to give it to her, place it around her neck. Give what's hers back and I can be free. If everything is returned to its rightful place then control can be broken and balance can be restored.”

“Okay, so we go find Petra, free her and give her the ring,” Harry said.

“It's not that simple.” Hermione turned to him, took his hand and said, “You have to kill him, Harry. The book says that if Somnium Gradior is used for wrong purposes then you have to dispose of the partaker. He'll still hold traces of his tools' and the victim's essences in him and you have to set that free.”

Harry's jaw clenched and Ron looked at him with a frightened expression in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Yeah, I know. It's about time too, I'nit?”

In an attempt to get Harry's mind off the battle Ron asked, “How d'you know this Petra girl is the main source?”

“Because she was the first taken. The first is always the source. That and she most likely has one of the Brother's blood in her since only members of the Order could perform this act.”

Ron had a strange look on his face, but before Hermione could address this properly Harry asked, “Wait, so you're saying that one of the members of the Order is Petra's ancestor?”

Hermione nodded. “If she wasn't a descendant then she wouldn't have been taken first.”

“Hang on a minute,” Ron spoke up and they turned to look at him. “Petra wasn't first.”

Now he had Hermione's attention.

“What?”

“Petra wasn't first. They tried to take two girls the first night. They must have decided to take Petra instead, but two girls were taken.”

“How do you know this?”

“I talked to Flitwick. He accidentally mentioned it. I can't believe I forgot.”

“He said that they took two?”

“Yeah, but they must have found out that Petra was the one because they left the other in the hall, and wiped her memory. Not even Dumbledore could crack it.”

Hermione stood and began to pace. “No no. They couldn't have just randomly decided or discovered. This had to be planned and thought out carefully. They had to know who was the one, where she was and when she could be taken. There can only be one…unless…Ron!”

“What?”

“Does Petra have any relatives?”

“What?”

“Relatives! A-a sister, or a cousin or-”

“A sister. Yeah she's got a sister in second year. What are you getting a- oh. Oh. Her name is Crista.”

Crista? Harry thought to himself. That name sounded familiar to him.

Hermione pushed her hair out of her face and quickly wrote the name down. She continued to scribble her findings on paper as she spoke quickly. “Crista. Petra. There's two. That's why they could choose who to take. Both are descendants of the Order. Both have the member's blood in their veins. Both of them could have been the main source but they only needed one. Where is she? We have to talk to her, we have to…” but she trailed off at the sudden look on Harry's face.

“We can't talk to her. She's in the infirmary. I remember hearing Madame Pomfrey talking about her to a student. They sent Crista to St. Mungo's.”

“St. Mungo's?” Ron echoed.

“Yeah. Remember Lockhart? She's in the same department.”

In that moment her anger towards Voldemort increased tenfold. Hermione looked mortified. “But she was innocent! She's only a child!” she said.

“Nothing can be done, Hermione. It's permanent damage.”

Her face set and with a determined gleam in her eyes she shut her book. “We're going to save those girls, and we're going to figure out who's next.” Hermione sat on the couch and began to peruse the book.

“But how do we know that he'll even kidnap anyone else?” Ron asked.

“He can only take seven. That's the maximum number. So far from what I've heard from the both of you, he's taken six girls, not counting Petra because she's the main source. He has to take one more. Now there has to be a pattern. There's got to be a reason why he'd choose Emma Dobbs and Orla Quirke over any other third year girl. Everyone, including Petra has some sort of similarity. We have to figure that out.”

“And how do we do that?” Harry asked.

“We talk to Ginny,” Hermione said. She looked at the lost and confused looks on the boy's faces and sighed. “Listen. She knows the students who are friends of the girls. We can ask them questions through her.”

“We'd have to tell her what's going on then,” Ron said and he tried to catch her eye.

“I know,” she answered quietly.

Harry looked at his friends sadly.

It's all my fault.

****

She sat alone in the common room waiting for them to return from quidditch practice. Left alone with her thoughts, Hermione stared at the hearth. The golden flames reflected onto her face giving it a warm glow. Fresh tears welled up in her eyes and she angrily blinked them away. She was tired of crying. She was tired of not knowing when or if her mind was truly lost, but at the same time she felt an overwhelming sense of relief. It was as if a great weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She wasn't alone anymore. They knew what was happening to her and what could happen to her in the end. They knew it all now and she didn't have to go through this alone.

The relief and the sudden shock or realization of what could actually happen to her surprisingly didn't make her want to break down, crawl into a corner and wait for death's caress. In the beginning, she was numb to it. The knowledge of her death was a shadow that darted in the back of her mind. Now it was thrown at her in such a force that she suddenly and surprisingly drew up against it. Her death would drive Harry to the point of insanity. She knew this and she knew that he could not face the Dark Lord and expect to win if he was consumed by grief and rage. And she would not let Harry die.

Her selfless desire to preserve Harry's life consumed her and the feeling left her trembling with the need to be free. She had to find a cure and doing so would mean the anticipated demise of the Dark Lord and Hermione had no qualms about that decision. She fingered the binding of the book that rested on her lap and she thought of the young girls who were taken.

She thought of Petra.

Hermione had met her on the first week of term. The girl was lost. She was so small. She remembered the girl's big, dark, tilted eyes as she thanked Hermione with a bright smile.

“How do you like the school so far?” Hermione asked.

“Oh it's brilliant! My professors are nice, Peeves is hilarious, and being able to do magic is simply fantastic!”

Hermione frowned at the mention of the mischievous poltergeist. “I wouldn't think Peeves is funny at all.”

Petra flushed as she managed to look contrite. “Well, I think that some of the tricks he plays are a bit…erm…funny.”

“You've never seen magic before?” Hermione said, wanting to change the topic.

“I've only seen a bit from my dad. My mum often tells him to do things the muggle way though. She said it would set a better example for me, but well here I am. I guess it's safe to say that they were both pleasantly surprised to find that I got accepted.”

Hermione smiled. She knew the feeling. “I'm muggle born myself. Both of my parents are dentists actually. So your mum's right in thinking that knowing about both worlds is useful.”

“I guess.” Petra paused as they came up to Flitwick's room. “Well here's my stop. Thanks again, Hermione.”

“It's no trouble at all. I'll see you around the common room I guess. It was nice meeting you, Petra.”

Petra grinned and waved. “You too, bye!”

Hermione had seen the girl a few more times in the common room and often waved at her as they passed each other in the corridors. A ghost of a smile clung to her lips as she remembered their meeting and she wondered if the girl was still able to smile so brightly.

Hermione furrowed her brow as she thought of the small, grinning child with the mischievous glint in her eye locked up in some dark room somewhere, lost to the world. She hated the thought of that smile leaving her features, and of her eyes losing that glint and growing dull. Hermione glared at the shadows of the dancing flames splayed against the walls. She smoothed the cover of the book with her hand and sighed.

The portrait sung open and Hermione turned expecting to see Harry, Ron and Ginny lumber in, but her shoulders sagged in disappointment to see that the shadows weren't the familiar figures of her friends. Instead, it was Susan and Michael, the first years who were talking about her quite loudly in the library a while back.

Susan glanced at Hermione seated in the chair and smiled briefly at her. After nudging Michael and blatantly pointing, she dragged the blushing boy over to where Hermione was seated. “Hi,” she said with a trace of rouge lighting her cheeks.

Hermione nodded her greeting to the both of them. Michael only grew redder and seemed to shrink under her gaze. They were both so small.

“Listen, we just wanted to say we're sorry. For, you know, talking and stuff. Right Michael?” Susan elbowed the boy in the ribs and he winced and stepped forward shakily.

“Y-yeah. Sorry.”

Hermione looked at the two of them and smiled. She didn't expect them to come up to her and apologize of their own accord, and she admired the two for that. “Thank you, and it's alright. I know you didn't mean anything by it.”

Susan looked relieved and her face brightened as she stepped forward. “Oh great, and you know, we don't care if everyone thinks you're slightly off or that most of the girls in our year are jealous of you because you've seized Harry's heart.”

Hermione raised her eyebrow at this. Seized Harry's heart? That sounded a bit too dramatic didn't it? It was more like stumbled upon his heart, really. After all of that trouble, he did far more of the capturing than she.

Using selective hearing she chose to ignore the comment that suggested the whole school thinking she was a raving lunatic.

Michael continued to cast shy glances in her direction and Susan, who must have forgotten how to breathe, continued to talk in her hurried way, “And we think that you're doing a brilliant job at being Head Girl. I heard Professor McGonagall say something about less students running amok in the halls this term.”

This girl was really quite funny. Running amok. It was as if in the past terms the students would wait by their respected common rooms until nightfall and then with much rejoicing they'd run out into the corridors for no apparent reason. Hermione bit back a smile as a picture popped into her head of students running through the corridors, arms flailing, screaming at the top of their lungs. Still she couldn't help but feel a stab of pride at the girl's comment. My goodness, was she still talking?

“And well, yeah. That's all we wanted to say. We'll just leave you alone now. You must be busy and all. We're sorry again, and erm, yeah. Bye.” And with a final wave from one and a shy smile from another the two of them left for their dorms before Hermione could get a word out.

They raced up the stairs and passed by Eran Lot who was on her way down. She glanced at Michael who was still red in the face and grinned as she made her way down the stairs.

“He fancies you, you know,” she said.

“Who? Michael? No of course not,” Hermione laughed. “Why would you think such a thing?”

“I overheard the two of them talking. Susan was urging him to approach you, but he wouldn't have it. When word got out that you and Harry were finally an item the boy was crushed.”

Surprised and mildly flustered at the thought of someone (even a boy 6 years her junior) even remotely thinking of her beyond the mere acquaintance category, Hermione flushed and glanced ruefully up the stairs where the boy had been. “Oh, that's horrible, but I'm sure he'll find someone. He's got plenty of time.”

“That's exactly what Susan told him. He's completely oblivious.” Eran tossed her light hair over her shoulder and Hermione grinned and said, “She's fallen for him hasn't she?”

“Very hard, and he's too thick to see it, but he'll come around. I'm sure of it.”

Hermione laughed. “How are you so sure of this?” she asked.

“Through observation,” Eran answered with a grin and Hermione looked at her lap as she tried to hide her blushing features.

“Shouldn't you be in bed by now? What are you doing down here?” she said.

Eran walked over to the table and leaned against the chair. “Just wanted to offer my congratulations. That and I forgot my book.” She waved the said book up in the air and blew her hair out of her eyes.

“Do all the Gryffindors know about us already?”

“Hermione, the whole school knows about you two. Word does travel quite fast you know.”

Hermione rolled her eyes in answer. Eran laughed, bid her goodnight and disappeared up the stairs.

Alone once more she turned her gaze back to the flames; her disposition much different from when she started.

The portrait opened once again and in climbed a grumpy looking Ginny followed by a grumbling Ron and a snow covered Harry. Hermione whisked warming and cleaning charms on all of them.

“What happened to you three?” she asked.

“Charmed snowballs,” Harry answered.

Ron grumbled and took a seat in an armchair. “Must've been Malfoy,” he grumbled. “Slimy git.”

Hermione caught Ginny's eye and the red head quickly began to fuss with her robes.

“Maybe we should talk tomorrow. You all look like you need rest.”

“No, just a shower, maybe something to eat,” Ginny said and at her last words Ron caught Hermione's eye and quirked an eyebrow. She remembered their last trip to the kitchens. That wasn't exactly a stroll through the park. She mouthed a quick `no' to him, but Harry quickly caught this exchange and said, “Hermione and I could go.”

Ron shook his head. “Oh, no. You two aren't going anywhere alone together. Especially after hours. It's bad enough practice was a sodding mess, but I won't have you two snogging each other in the corridors while I'm stuck here with Ginny.”

“Love you too, big brother,” Ginny said dryly.

Hermione and Harry both flushed.

“We won't be snogging.”

“Shut it, Ron.”

“Wait, how will you get the food?” Ginny asked and the three of them froze.

“Erm…we'll ask Dobby to make some,” Ron said and he avoided his sister's eye.

Ginny eyed the three of them suspiciously.

“How?” she said.

“Well I reckon he'd use some of that house elf magic, stand by the stove and-”

“Not how will he make it! How will you get it?!” Ginny noticed the three of them carefully avoiding her eye. She huffed, stood up and placed her hands on her hips. “Well,” she said hotly, “if you're not going to tell me then I'll be off to bed then!”

“Ginny, wait,” Hermione said. “It's in the kitchens. Fed and George told us a while ago and we've been going there ever since.”

Ginny looked from a contrite looking Hermione to a red eared Ron and a sheepish Harry. “Well? What are you all sitting there for? Let's go.”

“Now?” Hermione said in disbelief.

“Well I am feeling a bit peckish,” Ginny said.

“All of us?” Hermione said looking pointedly at her.

“Sure why not?”

“Maybe `cause not all of us can fit under Harry's cloak,” Ron said, then his eyes bulged and he raised a hand to his mouth, horrified at what he had just blurted.

“What cloak?”

“I mean,” he faltered. “Oh, bugger.”

“Ron!” Hermione looked at Ron in incredulity then glanced at Harry who was shaking his head in disbelief.

“Well she was bound to find out anyway and it's not like she'll tell anyone,” Ron said.

“I can't believe you just-”

“It's alright. It's Gin after all,” Harry assured them.

Ginny looked at the three of them in frustration. “Can someone please tell me what's going on?”

Harry jumped to his feet. “Hang on a minute. I'll get it for you.” He raced up the stairs and into his dorm to grab his cloak and threw it over himself. Then he made his way as quietly as possible back down the stairs and watched the three of them.

“We can't all fit under his cloak!” Hermione was saying.

Ron shrugged. “Sure we can.”

Harry snickered at the look on Hermione's face as she turned to Ron and said loudly, “Ron! You're not helping!”

Meanwhile Ginny was looking from one to the other saying, “What cloak?!”

Harry thought that now was the best time to show Ginny exactly what kind of cloak they were talking about. With a flourish, he unraveled his head from the confines with a simple, “This cloak.”

Needless to say, Harry Potter's head materializing out of thin air unattached to his body caused quite a reaction.

*****

They were in Hermione's Room of Relaxation. How the four of them managed to get there under one cloak, laden with food and not getting caught was a miracle in of itself. It was yet again another one of those few moments that Harry and Ron wished they weren't blessed with the gift of height.

Ron munched on a pastry and cast an admiring glance around the room. “Hey, Harry. You wouldn't mind if Luna and I would use the room every now and then would you?”

“As a place to talk, sure. As a love shack, no.”

Harry deftly caught the pastry aimed at his head and took a bite.

Ginny too was eyeing the room with much admiration. “So this works just like it did with DA classes?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Harry said drinking from a flask of pumpkin juice.

“And no one can barge in here unless they absolutely know where you are?”

“Yeah.”

“So this can be used for privacy?”

“That's the idea.”

Ginny nodded in answer and Harry and Ron didn't notice the warning look Hermione was giving her.

“You didn't give the gramophone back to Luna, mate?” Ron said as he noticed the contraption on the table.

“Actually I did but she said that I could keep it for a bit if she and you can come in here sometimes. “

Ron paused in his choosing another pastry.

“And you said yes, right?”

“Had to.”

“Excellent.”

Ron bit into the pastry with relish.

*****

“There weren't any beds here before,” Hermione sounded from the second floor. Most of the food was now gone and they had each took a turn at the musical contraption. Now the four of them lazed around in their respective spots in the room.

“Yeah, that's `cause as much as I love Ron, I don't fancy much wrapping my arms around him and banging into him repeatedly,” Harry said from his position on the couch.

Ron looked up from the chessboard with mock sadness. “And you told me you loved me,” he said.

“And I absolutely hate you. Can't you just let me win? Just once?” Ginny said as she contemplated her next move.

“But that would mean I'd have to lose. Then the world would end, Gin.”

Ginny stuck her tongue out at him.

“Prat.”

Hermione smiled as she counted four beds. Thank you, Harry. She thought. He was a gentleman after all. Hermione yawned. “Well, it's late. I'm going to bed.”

Harry sat up and craned his neck to look up at the second floor. “You okay?” he said worriedly.

“I'm fine. Just tired,” she said and gave him a reassuring smile.

“The one on the far left is yours,” Harry called out.

Her smile grew wider when she spotted a nightgown spread over the bed. Beside it lay a muggle novel with a single rose sitting on the hard cover. Hermione laughed softly and she brought the flower up to her nose, inhaling its scent. Moments later coming fresh out of the washroom, (yet another new addition to the room) she crawled into the bed. Four chapters into the book, she felt her eyes grow heavy and she placed it by the bedside table and called out her goodnights. The rose lay by her pillow; its scent filled her and lulled her into a deep and restful sleep.

****

There was an explosion. A burst of light pressed against her closed eyelids and she pressed her lips into a thin line. Something was different. The air felt colder here. The pungent smell of sweat and sick stung her nostrils and her skin felt itchy and grimy, as if she hadn't showered in weeks. Sharp pangs sliced through her empty stomach and her arms and shoulders ached. She tried to move. A clinking sound pierced the empty room and sent a message to her slowly waking mind. Feebly, she tried to move her writs and the sound persisted. In an instant the echo of her ragged breath reached her ears, but it was faint and felt distant. The bright light pushed incessantly against her and she wondered why she couldn't see.

“That's because my eyes are closed,” a familiar voice filled her mind, startling her.

“Well then open them,” she answered.

Her eyes tentatively opened and the light stabbed into her retinas causing a whimper to escape from her throat.

“Wonderful,” she said in a voice that wasn't hers, but it did sound awfully familiar to her. She was growing aware of a sudden constricting feeling building up in her chest; as if someone was trying to claw out of her. She twisted her head in an effort to be rid of the glaring light coming from the open door.

“Hermione?” the voice said timidly.

Hermione felt as if she was doused with gallons of ice cold water; she had recognized the voice.

“Petra?”

And a girl burst in through the open door shouting, “Petra! Petra Quick! Run!” Her grey eyes were wild with terror and her short cropped hair fell into her eyes as she raised a wand and uttered a spell. Without warning Hermione found herself in a crumpled heap on the ground and the girl rushed to help her up. The chains had disappeared and the muscles in her arms screamed in relief but Hermione felt all of this from a distance and she watched bewildered through Petra's eyes.

“Wha...what? Adel?” Petra stuttered and she tried to focus on the face that swam before her eyes. Hermione studied the girl before her. She was filthy; her hair stuck up at odd angles, her face was pale and ridden with sweat.

“How...” Petra's eyes widened and Hermione gasped.

The girl's arms were caked in blood.

“Adel, what did you do?”

“What we've waited for, now get up. We're leaving.”

“But she's hurt!” Hermione shouted within the confines of the girl's mind.

“We're all hurt,” Petra answered.

Hermione looked through Petra's eyes as one arm wrapped around the other, the two girls hobbled across the marble floors. There was a shout and they quickly dived behind a column as a jet of red light shot by them.

“You're bleeding!” Petra said horrified at the older girl holding her up.

Both were breathing heavily and through Petra's eyes Hermione saw Adel's wand hand shaking fiercely. She could feel Petra's overwhelming surprise and fear. It had all happened so suddenly.

Petra had never exchanged more than two words with Adel save for the time they exchanged names. She was the silent third year Hufflepuff who always sat in the corner of the room never initiating contact with any of the girls save for the moments when Voldemort came for them. In those moments Adel would huddle with the other girls, clutching at them tightly and hoping that if chosen, she would come back alive.

Adel braced herself against the thick column at her back and leaned her head against it.

“It's not my blood,” she answered.

Wand in bloodied hand and wide eyed, Adel turned and shot a spell over her shoulder. There was a strangled scream as one of their pursuers fell behind. They darted to the other column and Adel sent more spells to their attackers.

“Stupefy! Impedimenta! Stupefy! STUPEFY!”

She was attacking blindly, but her wild spells managed to hit some of their targets sending them crashing against the walls, their bones splintering on impact. Others simply collapsed on the spot. Hermione couldn't help but feel a surge of pride for the child as she managed to rid them of the attacking Death Eaters. Their moment of celebration was short lived however as more just replaced the ones she had disposed of.

One pushed his way through the others, blood matted his chest and his pale face was splattered with it.

“Get outta the way. I'll kill the wench!” he screeched and raised his wand. “Crucio!”

Adel's back arched and she fell to the floor bringing Petra down with her. Hermione watched in horror as the girl's body wrecked with spasms convulsed and shuddered on the cold marble. Her mouth was wide open in an endless scream and the wand rolled out of her grasp.

In a flash, Petra scooped the wand in her hands. She only knew a handful of spells, being only in first year, but she didn't hesitate to use them. “Stupefy! Expelliarmus! Wingardium Leviosa!”

“Tell Dumbledore,” Petra said.

The tall ivory doors loomed before them. Hermione saw a small tanned hand that was not her own reach for them. The doors opened wide revealing two girls huddled in the corner of the room. A lone candle illuminated the one girl who she recognized as Emma Dobbs, clutching the prone figure of who must be Orla Quirke. Orla's chest rose and fell as she tried to gulp in air. Her arm lay outstretched on the floor and was wrapped in a ragged tourniquet. She turned her eyes towards the open door as Adel's screams filled the room.

“What have they done to you?”

Before Petra could answer her, a red spark shot into her back. The child uttered a small gasp before their vision clouded and it was as if time stopped.

There was a searing pain in both of their heads and Hermione and Petra threw their heads back and screamed in blind agony. Pictures and visions raced through Hermione's mind and it took only a moment for her to realize that they were the many scattered memories of Petra's short lived life. She could only guess that her own memories were being projected into Petra's mind. Hermione flushed as the image of her and Harry embracing raced along with the others. Neither of them could stop any of the pictures from flashing before their eyes. It was a movie, and what only took mere moments seemed to take forever for them.

“I'm a source?”

“We'll come for all of you. Keep them alive until we do.”

“Hurry.”

Another faint spasm of pain ripped through Hermione and she cried out in dismay not for herself but for the girl who could feel the full force of it. Then she opened her eyes.

****

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