Author's Notes: Thank you to my Beta Adele, who is a really cool person and was quick to beta this chapter. Thanks babe!

Warnings: Violence, Language, Supernatural themes, Necromancy, Non-con, Drug use, Angst, Cross-generation, Incest, Horror, Romance, Drama, Mystery.


Chapter Four - Resent

By dented-sky


It hurts her when her friends do cry
And his love is poison-ous
There is mourning, there is lie
Then she says, 'What about us?'

Friday afternoon, and it was raining outside.

The drops were large and clear, and they splattered madly against the glass of the high window in the Girls' Dormitory. Pansy listened to the calming patter while she sat on her bed doing homework. She had wanted to avoid people, and for a little while she had.

Draco walked into the room and slammed the door behind him.

They had not fixed the faulty charm on the stairs yet. Bastards.

Pansy looked up, but with caution. She knew that frantic, angry, crazed look on his face all too well.

And predictably, he strode straight over and pushed all her work - parchments, books, quills, ink bottle - on the floor where they fell into a pathetic heap.

She braced herself. "Don't," she said, but it came out in a mumble and anyway, even if she had screamed it, he would not have heard her.

It was far from prudent to struggle anymore so she let herself get pushed against the sheets roughly, and he was fumbling with his fly with one hand, and pushing up her skirt with the other, so she made quick decisions.

It won't hurt, but only if I prepare myself.

She closed her eyes and tried to will her body to accept, to be wet, to think sexy things.

Relax. Something tore, and she realized it was her shirt as he ripped it open.

Okay, what did I do yesterday? Anthony and Blaise make a hot couple… Yes… Umm… I talked to Granger about…


Pansy thought about her, and her innocent face, her full lips, her seductive looks, her thick hair, her full breasts.

Naked breasts and long luscious hair barely covering them, Granger sitting in class, her legs spread. Eyes raised skyward, neck exposed.

Draco pushed.

And it did not hurt.


He was heavy and moving on her, his fingers dug into her hips painfully. Her head was turned away but his panting was still heard, and every now and again, we would moan, groan, and mumble things.

"Yesss… So good…"

Pansy shut her eyes tighter.

Pansy's hands on Granger, kisses on a thigh, on a nipple.

Draco was getting louder. "Father, I'll do it… for you…" Pansy, as usual, pretended not to hear. She gripped the sheets. He was going too fast and hard and it was starting to hurt.

But Draco was almost gone, and just when he came, he bit out a name.

Pansy pretended not to hear that, too.

The sun was setting and there were a large group of seventh years gathered at the edge of the forest.

Ron put an arm around Hermione's shoulders as they made their way toward the loud, laughing group in the darkness. Harry had said he had not wanted to come. Hermione feared for him; he had vomited, and was sick and pale, and often slept. Lavender was the same.

"…This new move," Neville was saying excitedly. "I do my trademark kick -"

"That is no trademark!" laughed Padma. "I taught you that move! It's old news."

"You're such a ruddy cow sometimes," said Michael amicably. "I'm gonna kick your cute little arse tonight!" He slapped her on the bum, she squealed and there was loud laughter from everyone.

"So you going to fight tonight, Hermione?" asked Parvati, and everyone looked at Hermione, only just noticing she was there.

"Um… No, not tonight."

There was a tense silence and no one was surprised.

Seamus cracked a joke and the others started laughing again, but Ron was talking quietly in her ear. "You should come out with us, you know," he said. "We have so much fun. Better than hanging out with those old giants."

"But that's important, Ron."

"Nah. These are our friends, and it's very un-Gryffindor of you not to want to kick some Slytherin arse." He removed his arm and went to go chat up Mandy Brocklehurst, who immediately took the bait and started talking enthusiastically.

Hermione checked her watch, then froze when she felt warm breath on the back of her neck. She tried to look fascinated with the grass bellow her as she reached into her pocket and pulled out the minimized book.

There were soft fingertips on her hand, pulling the book away from her grip. The fingers went, but the breath was still there, and Hermione shivered and closed her eyes. Then the fingers were back to give Hermione's hand a thankful squeeze, then both the breath and fingers were gone.

Five minutes later, Hermione walked fast through the forest, her fingers still burning where Parkinson had touched them.

"I have a good specimen tonight," Draco had said earlier. Pansy punched Dean Thomas harder, and she did not stop until she realized he had been laying on the ground unconscious for the past five minutes.

She walked fast through the forest almost blindly, the rain was falling softly, and she was aching for her next victim. If she did not have a fight soon, she would end up punching and kicking at a tree or something equally useless. She was still tender from that afternoon, and Draco had not looked at her once, and when he tried, he saw right through her and at someone else who was not there. She did not like it when his eyes went glassy and lifeless like that, it scared her.

In the next clearing, someone was waiting for her.

Oh no, anyone but her.

"Don't run away from me, you bitch," spat Sigma. Her hair was short, red, gelled and glossy like frozen fire, and her face was so pale Pansy could see her freckles even from across the clearing.

Pansy clenched her jaw and her hands were fisted and aching. "I don't want to fight you."

Sigma pushed off the tree she was leaning on, and strode over. "Well you're going to have to," she murmured dangerously.

"I don't -"

"Yes you do," Sigma hissed. "You're dying for a fight."

"And you're only here because…" She trailed off. She had meant to say, 'Because I chose Draco over you and Artemis and you've hated me ever since,' but it never really needed to be said.

Sigma shook her head. "I know what you're thinking, and you're wrong."

Pansy raised an eyebrow. "Then fight me, slut."

Sigma swung and the timer flashed and started its count. Pansy was ducking and defending, anticipating, then she kicked out but that was blocked, she squatted and attacked but that was blocked too, Sigma flipped backwards and Pansy ran at her, and it was fast and hard and thrilling. Eventually they were both laughing manically as they both attacked, defended, attacked, defended.

"He doesn't deserve you, Pansy," said Sigma breathlessly and during an uppercut. Pansy sprang to avoid it.

"Let me be the judge of that." Pansy spun-kicked several times and each time Sigma blocked, almost effortlessly.

Suddenly they sprung at each other at the same time, their punches and blocks so rapid yet almost silent. In a split second, their arms had locked, and they were nose to nose.

"I forfeit," said Pansy, but she did not move. Sigma narrowed her eyes.


"I told you I didn't want to fight you."

Sigma pushed her away, looking disgusted, and said nothing.

They were both panting and sweaty and Pansy was untying her ribbons. She smiled wryly. "I would have won."

Sigma's look turned angry. "I hate you," she hissed, "and there was no fucking way you would have won." She grabbed the offered ribbons roughly, then turned and ran.

A weary sigh before Pansy slowly left the clearing.

Draco was lighting the candles. "Help me with these," he snapped.

She pulled out her wand and peered closely at the stiff cat in the middle of the circle. It had been petrified, Pansy noted, and it was large, multicoloured, overly fluffy and seemed familiar.

That… that's Granger's cat!

"I haven't killed it yet," said Draco as he looked up at her, "because I was thinking of doing some other experiments -"

"Finite. Expelifino Master. "

The cat, after being unpetrified, immediately stood up and ran away fast.

Draco was up instantly and he threw her to the ground. "What the fuck did you do that for!"

"That was Granger's cat!"

"Which," he spat angrily, "is why the feral was such a good find!" He growled and turned around as Pansy got up. "It would have taught that Mudblood good lesson!"

Yes, because it was all her fault that she was born to Muggles, Draco.

Pansy ran, and Draco's shouting followed her for a while. She was in deep shit with him now.

Hermione was in the clearing, unrolling a square metre of parchment on the dirty ground when Crookshanks came to her. He ran to her, she startled, and jumped into her arms with a "meow."

"What's the matter?" she cooed, stressed. "Why are you shaking, Cookie, Hunny?"

"Meow." His claws dug into her shoulders.

Her hands full of cat, she used her feet to push out the corners of the large sheet of paper. She had painted it earlier with a potent mix of Ofiweed and Pinkfoot.

She tried to push Crookshanks off. He held on firm. "C'mon Cookie, let go for Mummy, please?"

There was a snigger from behind her, and she whipped around. Parkinson was leaning against a tree, beautiful in the dim, blue light. Her wild blue eyes and intense look took Hermione's breath away. "Are you what scared him?" Her voice shook a little, and she hated herself all of a sudden. Why could not she look ethereal and shocking like that?

Parkinson pushed herself away from the tree, her arms crossed, and shrugged. "Maybe," she said boredly.

"I take it you lost early then? Tough."

"I quit actually." She dropped her arms and walked slowly over to Hermione, her walk a sexy swagger, and her beauty only seemed to intensify.

"The whole tournament?" Hermione lifted her chin and shifted Crookshanks a little in her arms.

"Don't be daft." Parkinson came up to Hermione, then glanced away from her face to look around the clearing. "Interesting little hide-out you have here, Granger."

Hermione rolled her eyes and turned so she was standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Parkinson, and assessed the clearing too. "I like it," she said quietly.

Parkinson snorted next to her. Surprisingly to Hermione, she seemed warm, their arms touching in the wide space.

There was a short rustling from the left. Then it got louder as sequenced thumps could be heard. A moment later, Jom arrived, all in her large, squinty-eyed glory.

Parkinson made a sound like a panicked squeal and hid behind Hermione, gripping Hermione's forearms hard. "What the feck is that thing?" she gasped.

"Ow," complained Hermione, "watch your nails! It's just Jom."

"A friend of yours?" Parkinson's voice was loud and indignant but it wavered a little in fear. Her breath brushed Hermione's ear, and Hermione was reminded of earlier that night, and of that warmness on her own neck.

"Er, yes."

"Well, tell her to go away."

Jom had not noticed them yet. She was stomping towards the other side of the clearing, her beady eyes intent on the big trees. "I can't really," said Hermione, her eyes watching Jom's slow progression, "because now that she's here, I have a chance of getting her to pee on that piece of paper over there."

The fingers gripped her arms harder and Hermione winced in pain. "And how," Parkinson pronounced, "are you going to make a fully grown monster piddle on a small piece of paper? And why the feck?"

Hermione had not really thought too much about how she could make an almost fully grown, hormonal, female giant to pee on a piece of paper, but she figured she would just have to instruct the giant to do it. She told Parkinson as much then said, "It's a pregnancy test."

"Oh, good Lord," was the mutter behind her. Jom grabbed the nearest tree, and in one swift movement, pulled it out of the ground, lumps of dirt falling from the roots as they were ripped away. Parkinson whimpered a little and pushed closer to Hermione, her front pressed against Hermione's back. "I have a better idea," said Parkinson loudly in Hermione's ear, "let's just back away slowly, and run away."

Hermione sighed heavily. She supposed one more day of no pregnancy test results would not hurt. "Let go of me or I'll jab you with my elbows."

Parkinson stubbornly did not move.

"They're really boney and sharp," Hermione warned.

Pansy reluctantly let go. She had liked holding Granger like that. Then she suddenly felt something furry and moving being shoved into her chest.

"Hold him," snapped Granger, "my arms are tired."

Pansy pouted and lifted her arms slowly to take the cat, which had calmed down considerably.

"Alright then," Hermione said, putting her hands on her hips, "if I'm going to shirk on my duties tonight, might as well go for a leisurely stroll. Shall we?"

"Ah, alright," Pansy grumpily agreed. They walked side-by-side out the clearing and through the forest.

Pansy was annoyed; she needed to get into her bitchy mood to put Hermione back in her place. "Did you read the book, then?"

There was a pause from Granger. The cracking of twigs and sticks could be heard as they trudged through the denseness. "Not all of it," said Granger reluctantly, "just the bit you told me to read."

Pansy smirked, satisfied. She was on top again. "And…?" she prompted. "What did you think?"

"I think," began Granger loudly, "I'm starting to understand what's going on. What I don't understand is, where the book came from and who wrote it." The book was much like a bunch of scrap, brown paper that a five year old had bound together. Some of the hand writing and grammar seemed as though it was written by a five year old too, which confused them both. "Or I suppose I could mean, 'whom'," Granger elaborated.

"No," said Pansy, "it was written by only one person. This way." Pansy suddenly made a left turn. She did not want to run into Draco.

"But," said Granger, running a bit to catch up to Pansy, "it's like a diary, written by several people. The writing style, the handwriting - even the theories, they're all different!"

"No, you'll find if you read more, it was written by the same person. He talks about his experiences with necromancy. But," and here she stopped abruptly and turned to Granger, so Granger had to stop herself from running into her, "he had schizophrenia."

Granger's eyes were wide and her expression was rapt. They stared into each others faces, their discoveries shared, and Pansy had no space left inside her to feel lonely at that moment. "Multiple personalities?" gasped Granger.

"Yes," said Pansy softly, "he believed the spirits he resurrected stayed with him."

"My God."


"Do you think - "

"No, it won't happen. He's stronger than that."

"I think, I think, um," Granger mumbled softly, looking away, "that it could be happening to me."

Pansy said nothing. What was there to say? To do?

Granger started walking again. Pansy turned and followed. "So in the book," Granger mumbled, "he goes to say that people are made up of four main parameters: Body, Soul, Spirit and Conscience."


"But while the Spirit and Conscience work together but are essentially detached, Soul and Conscience are attached, and most believe they are the same thing."

Granger paused, her face tense and her eyes moving, thoughtful. Pansy pushed a strand of golden hair behind her ear. "But they're not," Granger continued, "they just can't exist properly with each other. And if the make-up of a person is altered so one does exist without the other, then there is a rip in space and time, but only to a certain radius."

"And the people around and associated with the rip can't handle it, and they experience symptoms of a very negative kind," Pansy murmured.

"Yes," said Granger, seeming quite excited. "So when a body dies, the next to go is the Soul. It splits and scatters back to the Earth and air. Then in that brief interval, there is a small, harmless rip that tells all other life that a life is gone.

"Then the next is the conscience, which attaches itself to the Spirit, which drifts away to either become a ghost, or to the Afterlife."

"That's about it."

"So when a Dementor takes your Soul, it's taking the Conscience as well. And when someone resurrects someone else, the Soul can't be called back because it has returned to the Earth, so technically you can't resurrect anyone properly. And when the Conscience is summoned back to the real world, it can't survive properly, and there's an open rip."

They stopped. Then they turned and looked at each other, their expressions grim.

"Don't worry about the Draco thing," said Pansy suddenly, "I can handle it."

Granger smiled sadly. "Can you really?"


She frowned. "I don't like you with him."

Oh Granger, thought Pansy, I want to kiss you.

But instead, she turned and walked away.

Hermione stood there for a while, her thoughts a jumble of death, love and the Dream Guy she had not seen for some time. Then, as if summoned by her own thoughts, he appeared.

His blue ghostly light came through the trees and bathed her in it. She could feel the preternatural cold on her skin, and the light filtered through the trees in broken beams. She stared, and was afraid, but this time she made sure her body was still and calm.

"So, you have no Soul," she whispered.

He stopped, stood and seemed to smile sadly. She was suddenly racked with despair for this poor boy, who had died at an age no older than her own.

A calm nod. He understood! And so did she.

He drifted closer, and breathed smoky cold air on her. He opened his mouth and said something, but it sounded far away, as if calling from a distance, and she could not make it out.

She did what he wanted her to do. She half closed her unfocused eyes, and slowly lifted her hand to reach out to him, just as he did the same.

Her palm was faced downwards, as his was faced up, and the palms were inches apart, slowly, Hermione's hand quivered and got closer. She was dimly aware that she was freezing cold. She inhaled a shivering breath, and it seemed to take the life from her. So tired…

Let me drift here in this cold… and I will see why you cry so.

Tired. Sleep.


Is someone calling my name?

Suddenly she opened her eyes. It was day and she was standing on the cobble in the street. There were shops on either side. She was so happy to be with her father. So lucky to have a father like that. She loved him very much. He was going to take her out for a father-son lunch, but someone got in the way.


The images shot away from her like bullet from a gun, she was lying on her back and it was dark and cold again.

"Hermione, wake up!" Someone was shaking her shoulders.

"Errnn," she mumbled. She opened her eyes to see Anthony crouching over her.

"Oh thank Merlin," he gasped, "thank him to Heaven and back!"

"He was murdered."

"Alright Hermione," he soothed, "you're okay now."

"No… I saw him… through his eyes…"

"You should go back to your dorm. Here, I'll help you."

He dragged her up, and she blinked, looking around. Dark and trees, and He was gone.

Anthony had her by the arm, and was dragging her through the trees. She yawned and blinked herself awake.

"You scared me," he exclaimed, "you were just lying there. D'you want to go to the kitchens for some chocolate?"

"I suppose," she rasped. She wished Parkinson was here, she needed to talk about what she saw. Or even better, Harry and Ron; their strong arms could squeeze any kind of fear away. She suddenly moved, and then they were holding hands. She needed the comfort. "What were you doing, anyway?" she asked him.

"Oh I um," he looked away, "was with Blaise."

Hermione made a face, and said nothing the rest of the way back to Hogwarts.


To Be Continued.

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