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Edge Of Gravity	By : Agora Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 4440 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Death�s Toll
Gelatinous lavender muck drizzled down from the ceiling, leaving a brilliant purple skin veneered across any surface it touched. Hermione Granger couldn't help but blanche, peering dubiously at the window covered with the dense hide. It appeared uncannily similar to one of Neville�s feeble attempts at a healing salve, which usually ate through a thick bottomed cauldron and part of Snape�s desk.

Pinching her lips in disgust, Hermione began digging her nails into the unsavory purple gunk, moon-shaped crescents gurgling wetly. The plum colored blob suckled itself tighter to the window, oozing a slippery wax film from it's sides.

Hermione curled her lips watching it flow freely over her fingers .

Professor Sprout had taught them about this particular fungus after the forest trees had been infected by it. �Purpurrotes Schleichen� fungus; First discovered in Germany by a unknown wizard. Considered to be sister fungus to �Crawl Verde� only regional to Italy. The only way to remove it was manually, something of which had, at the time, been fascinating but now was only a hindrance.

Hermione rubbed her fingers together, smoothing the oily substance between her fingers before yanking fiercely at a large clump. Within seconds it released from the window�s view with a unsettling pop. Swallowing loudly, the witch watched it flip about within her grasp before drooping jingly to the floor.

�Ugh.� Releasing her grip, Hermione took a quick step back, watching as the fungus dropped to the ground in a sickening slush. Only small splotches of violet struck her as it bounced gently.

�Disgusting.� Crinkling her nose in revulsion, she rubbed her stained fingers on the faded-threadbare curtains still hanging stubbornly by the window side. The last thing she needed was for the fungus to leech itself onto her robes more than it already was. After a few moments of scrapping the stiff material against her hands, she gave up with a small huff of dissatisfaction. She would need to spell away the discoloration on her fingers later.

�AAAAAAAAAAAA!� The Dementors high pitch symphony grew more numerous, drawing Hermione�s attention to the small patch of window. It was streaked with wiggly gummy clumps, leaving her with the minimum view outside but it was a view that she couldn't help but be thankful for. Squinting through the mass of substance she was barely able to make out Hogwarts crumbling walls.

A quake ran down her spine as she caught a glimpse of the hovering shadows roaming around the desolate school. Each never moved more than a few feet away from the building; screeches piercing even at this distance. It was a sound that reminded her of the years they had hidden from these creatures, after Azkaban had been destroyed. The hell-spawned predators had swept across the wizarding world en masse, seeking any prey they could find. A fact of which the reigning Deatheaters had taken advantage of.

For years they captured the remaining Phoenix�s' and the newly formed and honorary named Evans, Blacks, and Potters as sacrifices to these ghastly beasts. They had all taken their share of losses but none as great as Dumbledore's Army, only kept thriving by Ron until his...

Hermione shook her head, taking a quick glance back to the bed, watching only long enough to see the raise and fall of the young man�s chest before turning back. She could barely begin to fathom what Harry would feel when she told him what had become of the wizarding world. Her own damaged soul and the horrors she had seen and lived through were enough to keep her waking nightly, shaking in terror.

But then, who wasn't plagued by images of their past? Every Phoenix had a nightmare that haunted them, that swallowed their happiness more efficiently than any Dementors every could. �It's just another part of being a Phoenix.� Malfoy had informed her after he had woken her from a nightmare one night.

A sharp pain suffused her heart as she thought of Draco and his fate at this very moment. Malfoy was a cocky pillock at times, it was true, but he had proved himself a true comrade time and time again. Perhaps that was why he seemed such a wise choice for Harry�s regeneration. He understood pain and suffering but most of all, he seemed to be the only person whom could understand what his rising would mean to the wizarding world; what could still be restored. Who remembered what good times were and was not so broken by the wars to forget what truly mattered.

After Harry had fell, it had left numerous witches and wizards fleeing the rising wrath of Voldermort. Many were persuaded to evil, hoping to spare their families by taking the dark mark. They left themselves with no hope; sons and daughters growing in darkness.

Many good families had fallen into the darkness, destroying themselves with Voldermort�s vile demands. Even she could feel the taint of blossoming darkness within herself; all those deaths by her hands had leaving a burning knot of evil. Pulling her wand out and rubbing the smooth texture, Hermione swallowed, feeling all the power within.

So many had fallen before her; those she had once called friends and many more who would never have the chance. It made her feel savagely bitter, knowing that she had been forced to this. That they all had been forced to this.

��Mione?� Harry�s soft voice floated through the tiny cottage, making her start. �What happened to them?�

�Harry�� Hermione hastily tucked her wand into her robes, suddenly feeling oddly shamed for dwelling on herself when she should have been keeping watch over her friend. Jerking away from the window, she masked the thoughts hovering in her head before forcing a smile. �You should be sleeping. Once dawn comes, we'll need to get you out of here.�

�What happen to the Order, �Moine?� Harry whispered, slowly sitting upon the edge of the huge bed, eyes downcast at the dingy wood floor. �Our order.�

The slump of his shoulders were mute testimony of the pain that he was burning inside. It was a pain that she wished almost desperately to take from his young mind, a fact for which she couldn�t have understood years ago.

�Why didn�t they stop it?�

Pressing her lips together to keep them from quivering, Hermione turned from him, eyes peering back out through the dank little window. Silence stretched across the room like a poison, only making the words harder. She shuddered, listening to the distance squeal of Dementors. Finally, voice cracking, hand roughly massaging her wand through her woolen robs, she spoke, �They where too late." She swallowed. "The attack was unplanned, a fact that was our undoing.�

Harry looked up upon hearing the soft whimper his friend made . Tears slid down Hermione�s cheeks though it was obvious she tried to pretend they weren't there. Her lips quivered slightly before she continued, �By the time they arrived, nearly sixty percent of us had perished. The numbers would have been greater if not for our Order.�

Harry's heart screamed with disbelief, wishing that he could bring himself to believe she was lying. How could this be true? They couldn�t have gotten past Dumbledore. It wasn't suppose to be possible. �How did they get past Hogwarts defenses? Dumbledore?�

Hermione glanced at him, her face flashing pain before abruptly turning back to the window, a shaky hand coming up to wipe dripping tears from her cheeks. �That is something that we all wonder.�

Hermione is -- was -- is a terrible liar.

��Mione.� His voice was hard, sharp enough to make her blanche at the harsh tone, but she didn't turn to him. Instead, her shoulders slumped in a defeat, something that happened so rarely where she was concerned.

�Harry, there are so many things that I can tell you but that is one I will not...cannot share.� Harry felt betrayal bubbling in him, she always told him everything. How could she not tell him this? �Don�t look at me like that, Harry.�

��Mione, how do you expect me not too?� Harry whispered, drawing on the last of the strength he reserved, wanting only to find the answers he craved. �Hogwarts was guarded to defend itself and those within against dark magic. You told me so yourself. Even if the attack had been unplanned, how could they of gotten past?�

�Harry, I can�t tell you.� She whimpered, wiping tears from her cheek rapidly.

�Why?� Harry whispered again, the sound more powerful than any shout ever could be. �Why can�t you tell me? We share everything �Mione, why is this so different?�

�Because it doesn�t matter anymore.� Hermione's face pinched, watching Harry collapse back into the bed. �All that matters is...you're back.�

�Why me? Why now?� He murmured, his voice lowering in exhaustion. His body ached from the effort of even breathing, his head slumped forward to his hands. �What could I do now?� Tear of exhaustion, pain, and misery intermingled on his fingers. �Why not Sirius, or McGonagall, or even Hagrid?� Harry looked past his fingers, a excruciating pounding spilling into his chest. �Why not my parents?�

�Because the power was not meant for them.� Hermione voice was somber, her hand massaging her wand nervously. Her eyes flicked back to the window to keep watch over the dancing shadows. Their screeches were growing riotous.

The exhausted boy stiffened, lifting his head to see the ridge posture of Hermione. �Either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives.� Harry closed his eyes; he had not died at the hand of Voldermort. That is why he was brought back, because the prophecy had not been fulfilled. �A Deatheater killed me, that�s why I was brought back. I was suppose to kill Voldermort?�

�That�s not the power that I�m talking about.� Her voice quivered roughly, making her words barely understandable. She was trying to push the emotions away, but they heaped themselves on her till her lungs hurt for breath.

�What power then?�

A sob choked Hermione before she swallowed it away, steeling herself to the name she had not spoken in six years. �Dumbledore�s.�
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Edge Of Gravity