The Shadows of His Past

A Storm is Approaching

By Sabrina Clarke & Edited by Fiona Chan

...At the core I've forgotten
In the middle of my thoughts
Taken far from my safety
The picture is there...

There's a place so dark you can't see the end...
A spot of light floods the floor
And pours over the rusted world of pretend
The eyes ease open and its dark again

In the memory you'll find me...

...A little piece of paper with a picture drawn
Floats on down the street till the wind is gone
The memory now is like the picture was then
Once the paper's crumpled up it can't be perfect again

Forgotten- Linkin Park (incomplete Lyrics)

Hermione rushed, unseeing, past a group of third years summoning and banishing a beaten up Quaffle rather inexpertly with their wands. Their laughs came intermittently, disturbing the unbound silence with merriment that comes only with the knowledge of safety and utter naivety. A crisp wind blew their robes about, and caressed the dull water on the surface of the lake. On the edge, lining the grounds with an outline of singed gold was the Forbidden Forest. It loomed past the lake and the Quidditch field, casting an ominous shadow on Hagrid's hut, and giving a sense of the true, hidden mysteries of the Hogwarts grounds. While it struck fear into any unlucky first year fulfilling a detention, each brilliant leaf, ranging from a harsh golden to a deep vermilion, offered to her the comfort of a roaring fire or a peaceful moment curled up in bed. There she could be alone with the turmoil surrounding her, but not intruding on her inner pandemonium. It was as though a tornado had swept through the meticulously ordered library of Hermione Granger. Oh, Harry, she thought, how can you stride into Potions every day with a smile on your face, knowing that the most dangerous and powerful wizard is after your blood?

Or the letters. She couldn't get them out of her head either.

"Now I can stop."

The threats. They never said a word. It was just a piece of parchment with a symbol. No writing. No addressee. Just a symbol.

"None of it anymore."

Just the Dark Mark. Everyday, it tapped on her window. Everyday, it was on her doorstep. Everyday, it haunted her.

"I can't swim."

Hermione looked up as she just realized someone was talking- a blonde head atop a black, billowing cloak. An approaching storm.

"Malfoy..." she whispered to the figure standing on the very edge of the precipice that dangled over the iron black lake.

The lone figure shivered for an ephemeral moment, or perhaps she imagined it, "Yes, my father- Malfoy."

"Your father?"

"My father was a Malfoy." His back was still turned to her and his silver blonde hair tossed in the wind. Fallen leaves drifted aimlessly about him, framing him in a whirlwind of sunlight. Gold. Red. Orange. The setting sun lit the grounds afire, immersing the Hogwarts castle in a crimson, almost unnatural luminescence. He seemed to wait for a response. "The one who walked into a Muggle world leaders meeting and committed suicide- killing every Muggle in the room with him." The spoken words fell from his mouth, but they did not betray his emotions. He seemed frozen or stifled within his icy expressionless demeanor.

"I'm so sorry."

"Don't be." Draco's voice was monotonous, lacking any emphasis or inflection- it was dead. Or maybe it was just gone. "His end is mine. He gave me a way out."

"Of what?"

"You being here makes everything much easier," Draco paused, "But I know you hated me. Let them believe I was a Malfoy. I was..."

"Wha-"

"For a while." He still had not turned around. His hands were clasped behind his back as he surveyed the grounds before him, studied the grayness of the closing day, and tried to remember each detail fading with the onset of darkness. It allowed a gentle dotting of stars to shed their faint light upon the waning day. "Granger, I want you to know I never hated you." Draco, at last, turned around and his eyes shone for the briefest of eternities.

And then he stepped off the precipice.

"I don't hate you either, Malfoy," she screamed, shutting her eyes tightly. And she lied beautifully.

There was no response.

****

Then she screamed, a cry of fear, emanating and echoing in her mind in a crescendo of decibels.

"Hermione!" hissed a voice, grabbing her shoulders and shaking them roughly. Lavender's hands felt the bones protruding from her skeletal body. She was surprised by how much Hermione had wasted away. Haven't I seen her every day? "Parvati!" she cried, "Help me!" On the other end of the girls' dormitory a figure clad in purple silk pajamas stumbled out of bed. Lavender released her vice-like grip on Hermione's shoulders. Bruises formed where her fingers had clasped at her shoulders. What ever happened to her?

Hermione's emaciated form tossed in the canopied bed.

Parvati ran forward and began slapping Hermione's face gently. "Hermione!" she whimpered. Both girls watched as her fists balled and uncurled around a crinkled piece of parchment. They looked down at it with surprise. Was it a note showing the unreturned love of a long-time crush? Both of them exchanged identical looks of curiosity and tried to prize the crumpled piece from her frozen grip. A shiver ran throughout Hermione's body and her eyes snapped open.

Stepping away and wringing her hands, Lavender stammered, "D-do you, want to-to see-?"

"Professor McGonagall!" Parvati shrieked, in surprise.

Almost too quickly, Gryffindor's Head of House entered their dormitory. Straightening her tartan bathrobe and carrying a candle, the professor looked extremely miffed as she barked, "It's 2: 30 in the morning, I expect some explana-" Was that Hermione Granger? The cocky self-confident girl had wasted away and there she lay, a slender form swathed in red and gold blankets.

"Madam Pomfrey will take care of you- oh dear, dear what happened?" asked Professor McGonagall wearily and with unrepressed concern.

As complete awareness settled upon Hermione, the dream came back in flash of sanity and insanity. "I need to see Headmaster Dumbledore, Professor," said Hermione quite clearly. Hesitation was evident on Professor McGonagall's face, but the tight muscles relaxed into weary patience.

Professor McGonagall helped the shivering girl to her feet and maternally supported her to Dumbledore's office. As much as she hated to disturb the Headmaster at this time, what with owls pouring in at every hour, the complaints, the Howlers, the hexes... She shook her head, and looked down at Hermione. Two dead eyes, gleaming out of their hollow sockets stiffened her resolve.

As they approached the stone gargoyle, Professor sighed, "A storm is approaching," and propped Hermione against the moving steps that led to the Headmaster's office.

****

"Is there anything you want to discuss with me, Hermione?" questioned Professor Dumbledore kindly. "Professor McGonagall has just informed of me the reason why you were up at this ungodly hour."

Tears drew paths down Hermione's pale, frozen cheeks. Without a word, she handed Dumbledore a crinkled piece of parchment. On it was a moving photograph of her home and another sheaf bore the grotesque symbol. Dumbledore squinted and pushed his half-moon glasses further up his crooked nose. Eyes full of concern, he looked up at her sadly. "Difficult times have indeed returned," he paused and weighed the significance of every word he uttered, "for everyone."

Hands shaking slightly, he handed her a cup of potion, which was still faintly smoking. She sniffed the brew and inhaled its unappetizing odor.

"It is a potion for a dream-less sleep."

The Headmaster's manner suddenly improved as he said cheerily, "I'll send the house-elves up with a good cup of hot chocolate- plenty of foam. I would recommend a peaceful night's rest, and a couple of square meals." He raised a bushy white eyebrow and appraised Hermione. "Miss Granger I advise you to take better care of yourself."

Dumbledore, stared at the remains of perfect Hermione Granger, pride of the prefects...he shook his head. Those were the characteristics befitting a Ravenclaw- he and many others had overlooked her air of pride and true bravery. The stubborn tilt of her chin, the bright concern masked by fear, there was so much more to her- and now it all was obscured by a pall of lethargy. The intense, curious eyes were now dulled and each feature, which had emulated her character and very soul...alas, it was gone now- or hidden, "Look in a mirror, m'dear you would be very surprised by what you'll see." Hermione vaguely remembered two arms supporting her staggering form around the school. And she was through the portrait hole. And she was through the Common Room. And she was in her room. And she was alone.

Lavender and Parvati had, no doubt, drifted into sleep. Their gentle snores filled the girls dormitory, but each unwelcome sound provided welcome comfort.

She looked at the mirror across from her bed and saw a stranger. The real Hermione- the Hermione everybody thought they knew would have been the one to sniff disdainfully and shake her head at her messy and disheveled appearance.

However, the real Hermione had been gone for a while now.

So, who am I? She was so tired. Who am I? She couldn't keep her eyes open. Who am I? She couldn't sleep. Who am I? Her mind grew exhausted. Who am I? And slowly she began to drift into and uneasy and restless sleep. Who am I?

****

"Hermione you look terrible," Ron commented, tactlessly.

"Thanks, Ron," snapped Hermione sarcastically, pushing away the generous servings of food piled on her plate by Ron and Harry.

"You look like someone who got woken up by a banshee." Ron frowned slightly and said, "Well at least have some toast or some porridge." He waved a heaping spoonful in front of her face, its tantalizing aromas floating directly into her nose. The smell of the food made her sick.

Hermione groaned, "Honestly, I don't believe I had any sleep last night."

"You'll wear yourself out with all that work you do."

"I-I...have to..." she waved vaguely at the exit that led to the library and slowly began stumbling away.

"Well, good thing tomorrow's Friday," Harry stated positively. Ron gave Harry a clueless look. Harry sighed, "We're going to see Hagrid."

Ron's expression cleared noticeably. "Hagrid, he'll know what to do!" He grinned at Harry hopefully.

"I hope so." Harry sighed as he watched Hermione glide out of the Hall and in the direction of the library.

A/N:

I'm rather proud of my dream sequence. Oh, by the way- that bit about Lucius committing suicide- that was done by another FF.Net author called, "Archangela" she's very good and very romantic and angsty- just the way I like my fics! ::pushes reader to read her stuff:: Go on! She's got excellent fics! She's also REALLY nice for letting me use her idea! R/R, I'll listen to anyone. I really like this fic o' mine- but I could use a little more input. Puh-leeze!