4.// TABULA RASA

>>>

>>>

It’s a small, dank room.

Only a sliver of light caresses her face and makes his honey eyes stand out. Her hands are folded on her lap and she’s trying so hard to stay there. Mind attentive, eyes focused, and no collapsing.

“I won’t lie to you.”

She wants to be lied to. It would make it so much easier to breathe.

“I didn’t expect you to.”

He inches closer to her, his hand stretched out, veins prominent. The scene flashes and she thinks of Ron’s freckled one, always extended, always empty. And what of Harry’s? Red. Scarred. Drawn away from her.

Remus shakes his head and she bites her lip. Just say it.

“He’s dying... We don’t know why -”
“That’s impossible!”

His eyes open wide and his shoulders hunch back. She already knows what he’s going to say, the predictability burns and her tears involuntarily rise.

“Hermione, I know it’s hard to believe -”
“--How you can renounce him so easily? Yeah, that’s hard to comprehend.”

Her fists clench and Remus is forsaken. His hand is still stretched out towards hers and she knows she’ll never take it. Not his, not Ron’s, not anybody’s...

She kicks back her chair.

“I know... You think I’m in denial, but I’m not. I’m not.”

She’s not even convinced by her own words.

“Hermione --” his voice sounds so weak - thin - to her ears and she wonders what her own connotates. Desperation? Hysteria? “He’s not breathing. You’re a smart girl --”

“If he’s not breathing than how the hell can he be dying? He would be dead.”

She wants to wring his neck for even letting her speak those words by His name. It’s dreadful, it’s blasphemy.

“We don’t know, I already told you --”
“How he can speak despite not taking in air? I think you’ve been had.”

Now it’s Remus turn to kiss anger. He pushes the table with such a force that she winces. But only for a second.

“You think I want to admit it? God dammit Hermione! I want to think like you so badly it hurts! I want to believe that this is some sick joke, that Harry has some fucked up sense of humor and that he’s alive and kicking somewhere else and what’s up there is some doppelganger, but it’s not! It’s Harry and he’s, he’s...”

Spit flies from his mouth and he grabs his hair. His face is backed in profile and she knows she should comfort him.

“Not going to die.”

She crosses her arms. And Remus runs his limber fingers through his fading hair.

“He said a few numbers. Three to be exact. One one one. Does that hold any significance to you?”

The words are dull.

“No. Must be some ticking bomb by your guesses.”

She lets the door slam.

>>>

“Hermione.”

The sound of her name startles her and Ron’s eyes only blink, amused. His hands are tucked inside his jean pockets as he scuffs his way towards her. Her and the wall she’s pressed onto.

He snaps his fingers.

“And to think I forgot my handcuffs. Damn.”
“I brought the whip, think that’ll do?”

He smirks.

“Responding already?”
“No, that’s you.”

She wiggles her pinky as she looks at his crotch region. “Nothing much to see though.”

His laughter sounds choked as he sways with those stick-like legs of his.

“It’s not suppose to be like this Hermione!”
“I’m sorry I didn’t giggle like your Playwitch special editions.”

He grimaces as he guides her down the narrow hallway.

“You’re no fun.”
“No, it’s just so easy to make fun of you. You set yourself up, and, really Ron, can you be more of a red-blooded boner of a guy?”
“Well, fuck, what do you want me to be? Cold blooded?”

She simply shakes her head.

“Hopeless.”
“Yeah, you ever loving someone.”
“It’ll save me some humiliation at least. Speaking of which, where’s your necklace, Pimp Daddy?”
“What?”
“You know, the one Lav-Lav gave to you.”
“Oh Merlin! I’m never going to live that one down am I? Anyway, wouldn’t that upset you?”

She sits on the edge of a bed and her feet dangle. They grace the dust-bidden floor and she sees two streaks of her footprints leading back to Ron.

“Why would it upset me?”
“Why would you sic yellow canaries at me?”
“Because I like Tweety.”
“Wha’? Who’s Tweety? What an unfortunate name. Poor bloke.”

The conversation is ridiculous and it’s comforting. A tiny escape that she can lose herself in. A miniscule of a moment in which she could hold onto the rail and flex her fingers as she struggles not to be overwhelmed by everything, to not succumb to insanity.

But it’s temporary.

“So, why did Remus want you?”
“I said no to him, told him Tonks would kill me. But, if he so desired me, than I would give him permission to have Tonks resemble me, that pedophile.”
“Hermione!”

The blood drains out of her face and it’s involuntarily. The tears start returning and she rubs her hand underneath the bags of her eyes.

“He told me Harry’s dying.”

For the first time she sees Ron utterly speechless. Then his lips pull to the side and it must be some Weasley thing.

“Hahaha, very funny Hermione. I think you need to get checked though. You have some whacked out sense of humor...”

She smiles and doesn’t dispute the claim.

>>>

Dinner is a silent affair.

The table is stretched thin with only a few Order members sprinkled here and there. She has an odd urge to spread her arms wide just so her fingertips will brush someone and let her know she’s not alone.

“Hermione, your parents -”

Her hand falters and she inhales.

“They’re okay, aren’t they? I... I haven’t checked up on them.”

It’s like a fist in her stomach.

“Nothing but a few scratches and bruises, my dear.”

She has always hated when Mrs Weasley used her variety of endearments on her. They are coated artificial things and their tone rings false. Especially since Ron and her’s last break up.

Scarlet Woman, they seemed to say.

But she smiles anyway and inclines her head.

“They’re back in that house of theirs and we’ve obliviated them, of course.”

Her heart picks up at the comment. Obliviate.

“You’ve, you’ve --What?!”

The whole table stands still at her exclamation. Ron is the only one that remains eating.

Mrs Weasley’s eyes only glaze with sympathy and it condescends.

“Muggles aren’t supposed to know about these things, dear. We’ve taken care of it. Mundungus was the one who did it.”

Her eyes track the fellow in question. He only looks down at his platter and rubs his wrist back and forth. She’s not at all reassured.

“What if they knew something useful? About Harry?”

Mrs. Weasley only glances at her and replies all too quickly.

“My dear, they’re Muggles.”

It’s as if it answered any other queries of hers. The remark makes her sick to her stomach and more so since no one rises to contest it.

“They’re my parents. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

She needs a breath of fresh air, she needs to get away.

The stew was poorly done anyway.

Her feet take her rapidly away from them. But the dining door slams right open and she only catches a glimpse of red before her nose sprouts off blood from the impact.

“Hermione!”
“Ginny!”

Blood dribbles from her nostrils and her vision is coming back. Somehow she’s crouched low and Ginny’s everything red. Red lips, hair, eyes. It all hurts.

Ron is soon by her side.

“Nicely done, Genius.” It’s softly whispered. Her hand is covered in blood.

“Ginny, where have you been?” Mrs Weasley is careful to dismiss her.

Red. She’s everything red.

Somehow, she can’t let go of that concept.

“I’ve been visiting Harry.”
“You’ve been there all day. Everyday.”

Ginny only brings her bandaged hand near her mouth as she covers a shy smile.

It sickens her.

“What happened to you?”

It’s a mother’s prerogative as she reaches out for her daughter’s hand. The girl only recoils. “No-nothing. Just a mere accident, that’s all. Glass, I knocked over glass and hurt myself.”

“Let me fix it then.”
“No!”

Her mouth is covered in blood and she’s still on the floor. Damn door. Perhaps her nose was broken? Sure felt like it.

“What about Hermione then?”
“Oh, Hermione!”

She feels various wands pointed at her and her heart beats wildly. She can feel those memories coming. No, she wouldn’t let them.

“No, no. Don’t bother with wands. I’m just going to head up the loo. Goodnight.”

>>>

She’s alone once again.

Her bags are strewn across the vacant room and dust is easily breathable. Everything is still packed as they’re fresh out her her and Ginny’s former room.

Insomnia.

It bids her. She’s been tossing and turning for four hours straight and her nose is all clogged up. Dry blood masquerades her visage into some twisted version of someone’s All Hallows Eve costume.

1:00 AM.

Oh, it’s futile to sleep. She’ll just go slip in the library. At least it welcomed her, at least the books wouldn’t talk back and remind her of all that’s happened.

The bed springs creak as she rises and stumbles in the dark. Her nightgown is twisted and falls , mid-thigh.

With each second that passes by, she grows more alert.

Her feet quietly patter down the floor and the shadows cast their garish figures.

Somehow, she finds herself there.

Down the hall and two doors to the right

“...Mark his room.”

Her whisper is lost in the stuffy corridor. She doesn’t think she can bear to see him again, to enter that door. How Ginny could handle seeing him, every second, like that...

blood bathed upon him, the bed stained red

It would be too much to handle.

“Stop! I didn’t do anything!”

She looks at both sides of the hallway, but she already knows that it came - No, impossible. Her imagination, it’s convoluted...

“Stop!”

Her breath picks up and, next thing she knows, she’s past his door. Each window is shut inside there and the room is rank with the taste of his blood. A metallic taste that stings with each intake, but it doesn’t matter.

His body is writhing on the bed and she’s stupefied.

She knows she should call for help, run for an Order member, but these rational thoughts fall away. She feels a need to be closer and it’s compelling.

Her hand reaches out for his and it steadies him. He falls silent and still underneath her grasp and it scares her a little.

What has she done?

Her body shakes and there go her tears again.

HarryHarryHarry.

Her fingertips reach for his wrist, but there’s no pulse.

He’s not breathing

He can’t be dying. He’d be dead.

“Breathe Harry, breathe. Don’t do this - it scares me.”

The words are hard to get passed her lips. The neon red numbers of the clock from his bedside only glow back at her.

1:11 AM.

It’s the last thing she sees before he grasps her hand tightly and she fades away.


A/N: Okay, yeah, I know. I’m such a hypocrite and a LIAR. I know I promised quick updates like three months ago and haven’t done jack with this fic since then, but, let me explain. It’s that cliché excuse of my being busy. Yeah, I had like 65147876404 up my ass that it’s now sore. Thankfully, they’re getting done and I’m almost out of school (!!!). So, that means more time for my creative indulgences(i.e. this fic). I hope you guys are still hyped about the fic ‘cause we’re actually getting TO THE PLOT. Yeah, there actually is one! Weee! Until next time. ;)