The Light

Chapter 2- The Saviour

Hermione hadn't let the three boys out of her sight since she had woken up.

After she had told them her name (hesitantly, mind you- she still wasn't too sure whether it was a good idea or not), they had somehow convinced her to climb back into bed.

Hermione hadn't wanted to just lay down and be complacent, but Remus especially had seemed overly concerned, as he fluffed her pillow and fussed with the thin sheet covering her frail body.

They were still by her side, now.

Sirius' eyes hadn't left her face, so she pointedly ignored his gaze. This was harder said than done, as she could feel it prickling her skin. In any other situation, under any other circumstances, she would be blushing like a young schoolgirl at the fact that she held an attractive boy's attention. But Hermione couldn't revel in this.

James seemed too nervous to really look at her. Probably because she had greeted him with an unrequited familiarity and love, and had made him feel too uncomfortable. She didn't blame him, to be completely honest, but she couldn't help but stare at him for a while to calm herself down, before the novelty of his likeliness to her best friend wore off, and she was left feeling even more depressed.

Out of all of them, Remus was the one that Hermione felt closest to. That was ridiculous, of course. She had known the middle-aged Remus, not the teenage one. But it was close enough. He was shifting in his seat on her right, massaging the bridge of his nose.

Sighing deeply, Hermione dropped her head onto the pillow behind her. Remus' head snapped to look at her. Sirius looked concerned.

"I'm okay," she said quietly, sensing their worry. She almost laughed. Almost, but not quite.

Her situation wasn't what you'd call amusing, and it felt silly to laugh. She needed answers. She needed to know what happened, and how she could get back to-

Tears filled Hermione's eyes.

She nearly choked on the heartbroken sob that was crawling up her throat, but knew that if she reacted the boys would no doubt call for Madam Pomfrey and she would be subjected to questions she could not answer just yet. Luckily, she had somehow managed to persuade them that an hour or so of solitude would do her good, so they refrained from alerting the nurse of her state.

Hermione had grabbed hold of Sirius' sleeve when he had first stood up and whilst the boy had looked shocked, he understood the silent plea in her eyes and had sat back down.
Stay. Please.

Now, though, she was left as a victim of her own mind and the thoughts from her last life.

They had been doing so well.

They had been winning.

How had it all just stopped? How had it just switched?

How had the Light been winning one moment and in the next, been spinning in a downward spiral of loss?

She didn't know. But she did know one thing:

Harry had been a Horcrux.

Hermione had no idea how Dumbledore didn't know and she felt confused, sure, but most of all, she felt angry. A red-hot writhing anger that burned her veins. How could Dumbledore selfishly condemn a child to death? The old man had left Harry all alone to fight for the entire Wizarding world, without so much as a point in the right direction. In the end, it had been Snape who Hermione felt obligated to thank. Harry owed him his life, and so she felt like she too owed him hers.
Harry.

She could remember her black-haired friend, although the image was hazy; like a memory in a dream, nothing more. His eyes haunted her. Every time she closed her own, the nightmare of green framed by black imprinted itself on the back of her lids. They looked sad and tortured and she hated herself for being here, for breathing, for living.