Fallen Saint

Chapter: Four - "Unwanted"

*

"You don't know me

Don't ignore me

You don't want me there

You just shut me out

You don't know me

Don't ignore me

If you had your way

You'd just shut me up

Make me go away"

Title: Unwanted

Artist: Avril Lavigne

*

I hadn't spoken to Ron since the night of the dance, two days before. I had avoided him thus far, mimicking his own game. I simply didn't know what to say to him. I had no idea how to approach him. Would he be angry? Sad? Happy? There was just no way to know - other than actually speaking with him.

I shook my head, running my hands through my hair and pulling. I had my Potions essay nearly complete, but it was still four inches too short, and Potions was in ten minutes. I had wasted my entire study hall thinking about Ron and the dance.

I stood up, stuffing the essay in my bag. There was no use whining, and it was too late to do anything about it. I threw the bag over my shoulder and shuffled out of the library, dreading Potions.

Not only had I not finished my essay, but this class we were attempting to make an appearance potion and the antidote. I wasn't worried about the original potion, but the antidote was what frightened me. There was a good chance it would remove the spell Dumbledore had cast. If I drank the antidote, I would return to my original form: Hermione Granger. And that couldn't be a good thing.

I couldn't go to Dumbledore with my dilemma, though. For some reason, I just couldn't turn to him. I was afraid of him, but only subconsciously. The fear was completely illogical, but it was there, an inbred fear.

I was halfway to potions when I heard my name called from down the hall. I turned around slowly, already knowing who I would see. I would recognize that voice anywhere - how could I forget it? I also recognized the unwanted feelings stirring inside me that often accompanied the voice.

"Hi, Ron," I smiled slightly, tired of avoiding him but dreading the upcoming confrontation.

"I can't talk long, but..." he took a deep breath, "I just wanted to say thank you for - well, you know," he shrugged.

"I- I," I didn't know what to say. I wasn't expecting that. I figured he'd either A) get mad at me for deceiving him like that, B) think Hermione was here to stay, or C) pretend it never happened.

"I've got to go to Potions," I finished lamely and turned my back on him, racing down the hall. I could feel my cheeks heating up and hoped the blush would recede before I got to Potions.

Unfortunately, my wish wasn't granted. As I took my seat beside Blaise, she teased playfully, "Run into Ron, did you?"

"No," I replied, opening up my book to avoid looking at her.

"Who are you trying to kid?" she asked, exasperated. I didn't answer, so she rolled her eyes and lit the fire beneath the cauldron.

"Reports are to be turned in at the end of class," Snape announced. I made a mental note to hand it in - if we forgot, well... that was the end of that. You fail the assignment. We worked without speaking for the rest of class, and our potion was quickly complete.

A moment later, Snape called everyone's attention to the front of the room, where he stood before a table of ingredients. It was amazingly quiet, and I briefly wondered how he was able to control everyone so completely.

"For simplicity's sake, you will all turn your hair blue, as well as your eyes," he instructed, "Add three drops of blueberry extract to your potion. Let it simmer for exactly twelve minutes, and then place a freezing spell on it until everyone has completed their potions."

I rested my chin in the palm of my hand and waited for the rest of the class to finish. It wasn't too much later that the dreaded time came. In a sharp, condescending tone Snape said, "Miss Nicholson, your turn."

I gulped it down quickly, confident our potion was brewed correctly. My scalp began to itch, but quickly ceased. I pulled a strand of hair forward, noted it was a brilliant blue, and looked to Snape for his evaluation. He nodded and moved on to the next person. This left me with myself... and my worries. I began to fidget, bouncing my knees and picking at my fingernails.

"What's wrong?" Blaise asked, "you seem tense."

"Nothing," I shrugged, pretending nonchalance. I obviously wasn't a very good actress because Blaise sure seemed to know what was going on.

"You're worried about the antidote," she stated, and I froze. Forcing myself to breathe, I looked at her, a question in my expression. "I know," Blaise said lightly with a quiet chuckle, "Boy, do I know..."

"I don't know what you're talk--" I began, but was interrupted.

"Who are you kidding? I know, Hermione," Blaise whispered, a mischievous grin on her face.

"How?" I demanded, destroying any hope of feigning innocence. My face paled as my eyes widened. Blaise blanched, standing up. She shuffled backward, but her foot caught on the stool's leg. She landed on her backside; the frightened expression on her face matched my own... all but her eyes. Her eyes sparkled excitedly - the black orbs reflecting the candles' flames that lit the room.

"Miss Zambini!" Snape's cold voice came from across the classroom. "What is go--"

"Don't feel well. I don't feel well," Blaise's breathing sped up until she was nearly panting.

"Miss Nicholson, take her to the Hospital Wing," Snape demanded, moving to his next victim. He didn't seem to care very much about Blaise - or me (although how was he supposed to know I was the cause of Blaise's panic?)

I stepped toward Blaise, but she recoiled, bumping into the desk behind her and nearly knocking the cauldron that was stationed there over. I took another step forward, trying to grab Blaise's arm.

"Don't touch me!" she shouted, and every eye in the room returned to us. My face flushed - the change in complexion drastic.

"Come on, Blaise," I pleaded, trying to calm her down and get her out of the room.

"Stay away from me," she warned, "Get out of here. Go back to where you came from, Hermione."

A collective gasp echoed in the damp dungeon, and no one moved. Water leaked through the cracks in the brick walls and dripped down the wall, producing the only sound in the entire room.

"Ladies, follow me," Snape spat, a lethal anger underlying the calm, indifferent tone of his voice. Wordlessly, I moved around Blaise, avoiding eye contact by keeping my head down. I heard the Slytherin's footsteps behind me, echoing on the cold, brick floor in the eerie silence.

*

I stepped into the Great Hall and, though not immediately, all conversation ceased. It was amazing how fast news traveled - it couldn't have been more than four hours since I had left Potions. I felt everyone's eyes boring into me - digging through my flesh until it found my mind, my soul. It seemed that my every thought was being projected across the room for all to read. I felt so naked - and it scared me.

A commotion near the Slytherin table caught my attention, and I turned just in time to see Blaise rushing toward me. She grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the Great Hall. I hadn't had a chance to speak with Blaise since her conversation with Dumbledore (right after the incident in Potions).

"Blaise," I began, but she interrupted.

"I'm going to tell you something that I didn't tell Dumbledore," she paused, smirking, "and neither can you. Who knows what they would do to you if they found out."

"What do you mean? Maybe you shouldn't tell me," I said, although I was curious as to what she would say. What could she mean by "who knows what they would do"? She didn't speak, but led me out the doors of Hogwarts and onto the grounds. The brisk November air nipped at my arms and the wind rustled the bottom of my robe.

"No, you need to know," Blaise replied, her ebony eyes sweeping the deserted grounds for listeners. After Blaise had decided our conversation would not be overheard, she turned back to me.

"I knew you were Hermione from the day you 'transferred,'" she said, curling her fingers in the air on the last word.

I could only stare blankly ahead as I processed her words. If she had known from the beginning, why did she look so shocked when I accidentally confirmed it?

As if reading my mind, Blaise said, "I'm a good lil' actress, aren't I? Snape completely fell for it, and, if I'm right, so did Dumbledore. Way too trusting, that fool is," Blaise shook her head then looked up at me - her dark eyes glinting maliciously, "but I'm not going to tell him that."

Her laughter echoed across the barren landscape and a hawk, soaring high above the Forbidden Forest, cried out; the only sound in the silent autumn air. A gust of wind whipped my hair, strands of it catching on my chapped lips. It tasted bitter - a remnant of the potion. Though Dumbledore had returned my hair to its 'natural' blonde color, I hadn't had time to wash it, so the potion had been absorbed by my hair.

"How did you know?" I managed to say, still trying to comprehend everything. Things seemed to get more confusing each day.

"That I cannot tell you," Blaise replied, "at least, not yet. I know who brought you back. Just as you were led here, I was led to you. I'm here to bring you home."

"Home? What are you talking about?" I could feel my eyes filling with tears - I don't even know why. Everything was just so strange, so scary - I felt it surrounding me; it was suffocating me. I didn't understand anything - and I hated that feeling. It left me so vulnerable and insecure.

"You know you don't belong here. Everything is too good and pure," Blaise grimaced, but grinned at her next words, "You're tainted; the spell that brought you back left you tainted. And that little seed of darkness is growing; he can feel it. Just let it go. Why are you holding back?"

"What are you talking about?" I asked, completely dumbfounded. She shook her head condescendingly.

"Really now, Hermione. I thought you were more clever than this," she sighed, "I suppose I'll have to spell it out for you. See, when he brought you back -" she began, but I interrupted.

"Who is he? Who brought me back?"

"You have to ask? I understand that you've been through a lot, but come on. The Hermione I remember would have figured all this out by now," she tsk-tsk'd.

Her reference to the old Hermione stung, and I realized that was what she wanted. She wanted me to get angry.

"Your plan won't work," I replied defiantly. I was well aware of the fact I sounded like a child beginning the "yes huh/nuh uh" game.

"First, it's not my plan. Second, it'll work," she said confidently. Her path creating a circle, she prowled around me like a cat. Her muscles were tense; her limbs always poised to strike.

"You have his blood running through your veins," Blaise said, stepping close and snatching my wrist in her cold hand. She trailed a finger along the veins, and a chill run up my spine, "this darkness - it's a part of you now. Don't fight it," she shrugged. "It's useless. You'll feel so much better if you let it flow," she grinned, and with a laugh, the disturbed girl skipped into the castle. But as she stepped through the doorway, she turned around, "Oh yah," she paused, "don't let yourself disappear." With that cryptic farewell, she pulled the heavy oak door shut. My eyes followed her, while my brain tried to sort everything. How could that have been the same girl - the same opinionated, but still reserved girl I sat by in Potions?

I didn't move for quite awhile, and soon my fingers grew numb. The wind stung my cheeks, and I began to sniffle, but still I didn't move. I stood before the doors of Hogwarts, overlooking the vast grounds. The leaves of the trees in the Forbidden Forest had turned a luscious red blending beautifully with the vibrant orange, and even a smidgen of yellow could be found.

"Herm- I mean, Harley?" A hand landed on my shoulder, catching me by surprise. I ripped myself from the attacker's grip and spun around, only to realize I wasn't being attacked.

"Jeez, what's your problem?" Ron snapped, clearly stung by my response to his touch. For some reason, I just didn't care. I was sick of Ron, of Harry, of everyone. I was sick of them always comparing me to their beloved Hermione. I was sick of them constantly wishing I was Hermione. If I had taken a moment to rationalize, I would have realized no one was comparing me to Hermione. If anything, maybe Ron had wished for Hermione's return, but other than that - it was all in my imagination. Harry, the students, the professors, they didn't even know I was Hermione (sort of). Unfortunately, the fear, anger, and annoyance that had been building inside of me since I first returned finally reached its limit.

"Will you just leave me alone?!" I exploded. "I'm so sick of this! I'm not Hermione!" I screamed and raced into the castle.

Somehow, I managed to find my way back to the Bird's Nest. I went directly to the sixth year girl's dormitory, snapping at anyone who tried to stall me. I locked the door and collapsed onto my bed, burying my head in a pillow. Salty tears ran down my cheeks, and my body wracked with sobs. What was wrong with me? Why was this happening to me? I didn't do anything wrong. Blaise can't be right - it just wasn't possible. I was not evil.

But look what you just did to Ron... A raspy voice argued. Hermione would never have done that. Shut up. Stop thinking, I ordered myself - but the voice continued, You will never be as good as Hermione - she was innocent and pure. Why are you trying to fight it? You say you don't want to be Hermione, say that you aren't her, but deep down, you know you wish you could be her. Everyone loved her. She was smart and pretty. She had friends and had a brilliant future ahead of her. You will never be like her. You can't. Why do you try to be? No one will ever love you like they loved Hermione. Not Ron, not Harry - not Dumbledore or McGonagall. They don't care about you.

"Only I care about you," the words were no longer in my head. I bolted upright, spinning toward the voice. A man stood shrouded by shadows in one corner of the room, and from my window I could see the sun as it descended toward the horizon from its place in the daytime sky. I opened my mouth to speak, but hesitated when the door rattled.

Chapter: Five - "Left Without A Trace"

*

"I never will forget that look upon your face

How you turned away and left without a trace

But I understand that you did what you had to do

And I thank you"

Title: Here With Me

Artist: Michelle Branch

*

"Harley! Open up!" Lisa hollered from behind the door, shaking the doorknob, "Are you OK?"

My eyes drifted toward the sound, and when I turned back, the figure, cloaked in black, had disappeared. I shook my head, wondering if it was all a dream, and opened the door for Lisa. Relief crossed her face, and she moved into the room, closing the door behind her.
"Are you OK? I heard what happened in Potions," Lisa said, plopping down onto my bed and pulling her feet under her body.
"What did you hear?" I asked, leaning against the door.
"That Blaise had a nervy b and called you 'Hermione.' Why did she pull you out of the Great Hall?" Lisa asked.
"She, uh," I stumbled on my words, trying to form a convincing story, "she just wanted to apologize."
"Hmm," was all Lisa said. I nodded, nibbling my bottom lip. The heavy silence was making me jittery.
"Well, I'm glad you're all right. That would have freaked anyone out," Lisa finished, standing up, "Don't worry about it though. No one thinks bad about you or anything."
Why would they think bad about me? I wanted to ask, but bit my tongue. The less I said the better. I just nodded.

Lisa smiled and asked, "Do you want to hang out with us? Everyone's in the common room."

I declined, saying I had homework to finish, and Lisa nodded and smiled before bounding down the stairs. I swung the door shut, climbed onto my bed, and shut the curtains. I needed time to think; some time to sort everything out.

Starting from the beginning, I ran through the entire day in my head. From the first meeting with Ron to - Ron! Oh crap, I thought suddenly, I'm so stupid!

I leapt off the bed and out the door, running down the stairs. Before I even reached the trap door that led out of the Ravenclaw common room and into the hallway, the door opened. Professor Flitwick climbed up the last few stairs and stood somberly in front of the door.

"Excuse me," he said in his squeaky voice, yet somehow managed to get everyone's attention, "There has been an, er, incident, and Professor Dumbledore would like all students to remain in their common rooms. Prefects, I trust you to enforce his request. I will update you as soon as we know more. Good night."

And with that, he left. Simply climbed out the trapdoor and down the stairs. Conversation exploded in the common room. Everyone seemed to be making guesses regarding Flitwick's cryptic announcement.

I overheard a seventh year hypothesizing, "I bet Potter's gone and done something again. It's always him."

"Come on, Michael. Give him a break; he didn't ask to be famous. It has got to be tough on him - you know, without his parents and all."

"Aw, shut up. You know you just fancy him," 'Michael' replied.

"June fancies who?" A girl, probably another seventh year, interrupted. I chuckled, thinking: They're gossiping about my best friend.

As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I realized I had referred to Harry as 'my best friend.' It was surprising, to say the least. I was almost scared... what if I regained my memory? I would know longer be Harley. I began to panic - I was Harley. If Hermione came back, I would disappear. I would no longer exist.

Breathe, I ordered myself, trying to calm down. Blaise's words from earlier echoed in my mind, "Don't let yourself disappear."

The thought of vanishing pressing upon my mind, I slowly walked back up to the dormitory. It was oddly quiet, although muffled chatter could be heard through the floor. I slid down the wall and wrapped my arms around my knees. Completely worn out, I let my head tip back so it rested against the wall. It had been an amazingly hectic day, and I was losing sight of reality. My brain was in overdrive, and I couldn't think straight. What was going on? I was completely and utterly confused. My body grew heavy as I relaxed, and I could barely keep my eyes open. I surrendered to sleep, curling into a ball on the floor.

*

"Harley," a whisper woke me. I lifted my head from atop my arms, blinking to clear my vision, and looked up. Lupin stood on the other side of Ron's hospital bed.

"Professor?" I mumbled, stifling a yawn and glancing at the clock on the bedside table. It was nearing two in the morning.

"Go back to your dorm, Harley. You can't do anything for him now," Professor Lupin urged.

"No, I can't leave," I tried to explain, "I just... can't. It's hard to explain but..."

Lupin nodded, "I'm going to bed. Madam Pompfrey is in her quarters, but don't wake her unless it's an emergency. She's been searching for an antidote nearly twenty hours a day; she needs sleep."

"OK," I smiled slightly and mumbled a good-bye. Lupin left without another word, and I looked down, watching Ron's chest rise with every breath. The freckles sprinkled across his face seemed too bright on his pale skin.

I drifted in and out of sleep the rest of the night, in my mind reliving the only part of my life I remembered - my life as Harley. Nearly a week had passed since that day - the day this all began. Between Ron, Blaise, and the Shadow Man - as I had dubbed the mysterious figure that had visited my room - between them all, I was an absolute wreck that night. But over the last few days, everything settled down surprisingly. Snape had allowed me to switch partners, and it was generally accepted by my fellow students that I had switched because I felt awkward around Blaise - which was true, but not for the reason they assumed. So contact with Blaise was minimal.

The Shadow Man hadn't visited me again, and I can't say I'm not happy about that. There was obviously a connection between the Shadow Man and Blaise, although I knew no more than that. Still, anything that involved Blaise couldn't be good.

Professor Flitwick's announcement had turned out to be not about Harry, but concerning Ron. Something had happened (no one is sure what) between the time I stormed away from Ron and later that night when Ron staggered into the library with a ghostly white complexion and wide, frightened eyes (so witnesses say). The story that had been relayed to Dumbledore consisted of Ron stumbling toward the back of the library, and reaching for a book, he collapsed. Ron was brought to the Hospital Wing by two Hufflepuffs, who say he was mumbling something or another the entire way, but by the time they reached Madam Pompfrey, Ron was out cold. Since then, Ron hadn't improved. He would stir every couple of hours, but since the third of the month when he first fell ill, he hadn't shown any sign of awakening from his comatose state.

"Ron," I whispered, reaching for his hand. His fingers, limp in my hand, felt so cold... they felt dead, but that wasn't possible - I could hear his rattled breathing. No one knew what was wrong with him, but he seemed to get worse every day. He jerked awkwardly, whimpering, before falling back into unconsciousness.

"Ron, I'm so sorry," I mumbled, fighting back the tears. Somehow I knew this had to do with me. Somehow I had caused this.

"How is he?"

I cringed at the voice. Though the question seemed innocent enough, I heard the sneer behind it. I didn't look up; I didn't want to see her face.

"Not getting any better, is he?" She asked. It was obvious she already knew the answer. I looked up, and her dark eyes met my tired, brown ones. Her grin seemed to say: I know something you don't know. I didn't answer her question; I just stared at her.

Finally, she said, "He won't survive."

This I knew. Even if I hadn't accepted it yet, I knew it. It hurt more than words could ever express, but there was nothing I could do. The helpless situation left me angry and scared, but still - there was nothing I could do. Ron was at the mercy of whatever had hurt him.

"I know someone who can heal him."

My eyes snapped up to Blaise's, and a small seed of hope planted itself in the pit of my stomach - just waiting for the chance to bloom. All it needed was a little more...

"I know someone who will heal him," Blaise paused, "for a price."

"And the price?" I asked, breaking my vow of silence. I had to ask, though. I had to know. If there was anything I could do to save Ron, I would do it.

"You," she answered simply. "All he wants is you. If you agree to those terms, Ron is going to live. If you don't... well, it's only a matter of time."

I didn't say anything. Was I willing to give up my life for Ron's? Yes. I already knew the answer, but I couldn't make myself accept. What if this wasn't the only way out? What if there was another cure?

"Take as much time as you want to decide," Blaise told me, "but be careful... Ron won't be around forever."

With that, Blaise turned and walked out of the Hospital Wing, just as Harry ran in. He looked at me, seeming to ask: What was she doing here? I shrugged, unsure of what to tell him.

"How's Ron?" Harry leaned his broom against the wall. His hair was all over the place, and his face was flushed.

"Quidditch practice?" I asked, and he nodded. He took a seat on the opposite side of the bed and spoke.

"Hi Ron," he said, "It's me - Harry. I just got in from Quidditch practice. Everyone misses you - they want their keeper back."

I watched Harry talk to his best friend, a heavy sadness weighing down on me. He spoke of Quidditch, of the Cannon's win on Wednesday... Harry talked about the other Gryffindors, of the family and how worried they were about Ron. He told Ron about all the classes he was missing, gave Ron messages from various teachers and students. He told Ron jokes that he had heard, and filled him in on how many points Slytherin lost in Charms. Finally, the talking ceased, and we sat there in silence - the three of us.

"Har... Hermione, I know," Harry said after a while. I should have been surprised - but, frankly, I was too tired to feel. I was numb - emotionally. Somehow, I managed to ask how he figured it out.

"The Blaise thing - it triggered my memory. Before I went," he paused and shrugged, "well, comatose, Sirius told me you were alive. That was what triggered the, um, episode, actually. I guess I had suppressed it, but when Blaise called you Hermione... I put two and two together."

I was reminded of my conversation with Ron - when I told him I wasn't Hermione. I knew I had to tell Harry, but I was afraid of his reaction - would he reject me? Still, I gathered my courage and opened my mouth to say it, but he stopped me.

"I don't expect you to remember, but I know that she is in you... somewhere," he said, "I'm just..." He seemed to be struggling with his words. "You saved me, Hermione. You saved me again."

I stared into his emerald eyes... Each time he called me that, everything felt so...right. I could almost pretend that I was Hermione, that I was the amazing girl everyone loved.

"Just like the time with the Devil's Snare, the Basilisk, with Sirius in third year and Ron in fourth - you were always there," he continued, letting out a faint laugh.

"I couldn't forgive myself. I took you for granted. All those times you were there, I just assumed you would always be..." his voice cracked. "And then you were gone. Ron was a mess, and even if he never admitted it, he blamed me for awhile. I know he doesn't anymore, but he did. Imagine, The Boy Who Lived unable to protect his closest friend."

He smiled grimly, trying to curb the tears gathering in his eyes. "I missed you. You and Ron were... are my best friends. I could always lean on you when things got too hard. You always knew what to do or how to make it better. But when you died, I was alone. Ron and I drifted apart... I thought no one understood how I felt. I know I was wrong - Sirius had to have known what I was going through, but I couldn't see that. I just didn't know what to do," Harry let out a sigh. I could almost see the load lifting from his shoulders. He had carried that burden around for the last year, and finally, it was lessening. Maybe it wasn't completely gone, maybe it would never be, but it wasn't quite as heavy anymore - I could see that. His face looked younger, his eyes more innocent. It was amazing: the change.

He opened his mouth to continue, but was interrupted when the Weasley clan burst into the Hospital Wing. I recognized them all; they had been in the photos Dumbledore had used to try to spark my memory. It hadn't worked, of course, but Ron had told me who was who in the photos.

"Oh Ron!" Mrs. Weasley ran over to Ron, gripping his hand and brushing his hair out of his face. I slipped to the back of the room as the Weasley's huddled around the bed. All eight of them began speaking at once, and the room was filled with voices.

"Excuse me," Dumbledore said, not raising his voice but still somehow managing to get their attention. He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when he saw me. "Harley? What are you doing here?"

"I was just visiting Ron," I replied quietly, and every eye in the room focused on me. I heard Fred and George whispering to each other, but I couldn't decipher the words.

"Who are you?" Mr. Weasley asked, not unkindly.

"She's my friend - mine and Ron's," Harry saved me from answering. I wouldn't have known what to say. Before Mr. Weasley could say anymore, Dumbledore cleared his throat. He opened his mouth, and I cringed. I knew what was coming...

"I'm sorry..."

I didn't need to hear the rest to know Blaise was right. The look on Dumbledore's face made that clear. I knew it, but I couldn't believe it. Things like that don't happen. My friends don't die. Ron Weasley doesn't die. He just can't...

"...completely unheard of...no known cure..."

Mr. Weasley nodded along, listening to the headmaster's explanation, but I saw the tears dripping down the corners of his eyes. Mrs. Weasley was on the floor with Ginny, their shoulders heaving with silent sobs. Fred and George had collapsed onto the adjacent bed, their faces slack and impassive. Bill sat in the chair with his head in his hands, and Charlie was beside Mr. Weasley, his hand resting on the elder Weasley's shoulder giving him silent support.

I stood straight, chin up, staring into space. I saw everything around me, but I didn't see it. I watched Ron, knowing I would never see him again - not alive, anyway. Unaware of everyone else, I walked out of the Hospital Wing. They didn't follow, and for that I was thankful. I knew what I had to do. It was the only way...

I floated toward Ravenclaw tower, and somehow made it to my dormitory without speaking to anyone. I dug through my chest, until I found a clean piece of parchment. I sat down at the shared desk and began my letter. I finished an hour later, after many rewrites, and rolled up the parchment, securing it with a navy blue ribbon. I wrote To Ron Weasley and placed a simple privacy charm on it. Now no one but Ron could open it. Slowly descending the stairs of Ravenclaw Tower, I allowed my eyes to wander over everything - for the last time.

Gathering my courage, I marched to the entrance of the Snake's Den (Slytherin common room), and pounded on the brick wall that hid its entrance. I knew they could hear me, so I kept pounding. Finally, a fifth year Slytherin barged out, wand held high.

"Find Blaise," I demanded. The sound of my own voice shocked me; it was so cold - brutal even. The Slytherin must have heard the edge in my voice, for he didn't argue. He slipped back through the crack in the wall, and a moment later Blaise appeared. She smiled when she saw me.

"So you are here to take me up on that..." Blaise paused, "agreement?"

I didn't say anything; I didn't need to. She knew why I was there.

"All right," she shrugged. "Like I already told you, you come with me. Voldemort has some plan for you or what not, so, in exchange, he will heal Ron," Blaise explained.

"How do I know that he will fulfill his end of the deal? How do I know he won't just let Ron die?" I asked.

"You don't," she said, "but do you really want to take that chance? If you don't come with me, Ron is going to die. And as far as I know, the Dark Lord is true to his word. If he says he will heal Ron, then he will."

She said it with such assurance. How could she expect me to trust him - trust Voldemort? But I had no choice. I couldn't let Ron die, especially if I knew there was a chance that I could save him.

"OK," I said. "I'll go with you."

"Then let's go," she grabbed my hand, and suddenly I was no longer at Hogwarts.