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You never really know

What it is

Not until it goes

And if it comes again

It’s a miracle

But what you miss is love

In everything below and up above

And could she bring it all

A miracle

Is there a trace

Inside her face

Of a lonely miracle?

And so you wait

And lie awake

For a lonely miracle

--Vertical Horizons, “Miracle”

Even without her mind, even without her brain, even without her soul, a battle raged between herself and herself alone.

The chains were biting into her flesh, and it hurt. She could no longer feel her arms, and she knew, actually knew, that was bad.

Strength was something he couldn’t take. She would fight a battle she didn’t even know. But she would fight it. She wouldn’t give in.

Give in to what? Give in to whom?

Confusion clouded her fervor and she stopped rattling the chains. Submission settled over her again and she waited for his orders to come. What was the point in fighting something she didn’t understand? For all she knew, this could be who she was, an unknown, feeble person chained to the walls.

But something was itching to pull the blanket off her mind and reveal it all to her. It was pulling, tugging, nagging, ripping, but the blanket held strong.

She was an onlooker, going for the stronger side, opinion so pliable she was practically flying back and forth across her mind. She could feel the impact as she hit the edges of each side, back and forth.

Bits of the imaginary fabric were being torn every few hours or days, and ions of her old self were returning. She was no longer dead. Her mind was alive and buzzing, and curiosity was nipping at her. Why was she here? Who was she? Why didn’t she remember? Who was he?

If only the answers would come to her, maybe she could still be here today. Maybe she wouldn’t have… But no, let’s not get ahead of ourselves now. Impatience is the flaw of so many people.

Harry couldn’t move. He was paralyzed and no matter how hard he fought it, he wouldn’t budge from his designated place on the bench. His mind was glued to one thought, and so his body was too.

He ached to flex his fingers, ached to stand and run away, ached to hope.

But he couldn’t do anything.

Although he had only been in this horrid prison for about two days, it felt like two thousand. He itched to break out, but he knew the impossibility of the suggestion. Still, you can’t fight down such a strong sensation as that. Especially with the news he had just heard.

As it often was, his intuition proved right. He usually found pleasure in this fact, as he usually felt good things would occur. But now…now he wanted to run. He wanted to be anyone but himself. He wanted horribly to press a button and fly back in time to the fateful day Voldemort had taken him away. He wouldn’t have gone for the walk. He wouldn’t ever have joined him. No. He wouldn’t have killed Hermione’s parents.

But he knew he couldn’t. Voldemort would have gotten him some other way, and he might be dead already. The course of time was too complicated to tamper with, and though he desired to fix it all, he knew he would never be able to.

Maybe it was a test. Maybe God was testing his patience, his faith..

But hadn’t he already failed that test?

No other chances after February fourteenth, he thought sadly. No more Harry. No more God. No more. Nothing. Goodbye, England’s curse.

So many people would show for it. So many people would relish it, eat it up, die happy because of it. They would probably make it Potter’s Death Day rather than Valentine’s Day. Oh, how funny that was to him. He really wanted to laugh. Really, he did. Why was he choking like this then?

He deserved it. He told himself over and over and over…

He had once said that Sirius Black deserved that fate, strength in his voice. He had really believed it. But that was until he learned Black was innocent.

Could that be the same for him? No. Of course not. He was guilty as anyone had ever been. Even he admitted it.

But, still, he couldn’t help but retch every time the date crossed his mind, which was very often.

Because, on February fourteenth, at twelve o’clock noon, a dementor would take Harry Potter out of his cell, and position him on a stage, surrounded by crowds cheering and silent in anticipation.

On February fourteenth the dementor’s kiss would be performed on Harry Potter, and life would go on easily without him.

The vacation turned out to be nicer than she had expected. The hotel was nice and welcoming, and the freedom from school was really very pleasant. She would have really enjoyed herself if it weren’t for the dark cloud of worry hanging over her.

It went with her everywhere. It had always been there, casting shadows on her brightest moments and dulling them to gray. Gray. Gray. Gray…

Harry. Harry. Harry…

She wanted to scream. She wanted to yank her heart out of her chest and trample it to the ground until it was part of the carpet and gone forever.

She wanted and wanted…but she could never.

So she went on, trying push the cloud away and cope with her own sick heart. She would never conquer herself, but she could act like she had.

Every morning she woke up and hoped the new day would bring in some sunlight. The day may have a flawless blue sky and buttery sunlight might lick the picturesque cottages of Hogsmeade, but in her heart was a hailstorm of guilt.

Help Harry. Save Harry. You’re a horrid person…

She avoided newspapers. She tried to follow McGonagall’s advice and forget Harry ever existed. It’s a difficult thing to do when he had such a tight grip on her heart.

She’d only left Hogwarts two days before, but she had never felt so old. It seemed not that long ago when she actually felt somewhat twenty-two. That was all gone now. She was young on the outside but old and wrinkled inside.

Trying desperately to erase the muddle of her thoughts, she seated herself at a table and ordered her breakfast, never expecting that running from her thoughts would draw her nearer to them.

“I have a job for you.”

The words echoed in the hollows of her brain and the girl looked up with hope in her eyes. Maybe she would see. Maybe she could…

“Stand,” barked the disfigured man.

The chains were gone as soon as they had come and she climbed shakily to her feet, rubbing her bloody wrists. The look in her eyes was that of a trusting child.

“You need some brains for this, don’t you?” muttered the man. “Never convincing enough without them.”

“Yes?” she croaked.

“Ah, you speak!” he said in a feigned delight. “How wonderful. I shouldn’t have counted on the spell to hold you down. Too powerful.”

He circled around her, studying her in such a way that made her squirm.

He grabbed a handful of her hair and tossed it aside. “Yes, you’re much too dim to do any good at the moment. I’m afraid I’ll have to give you your personality back. So sad.”

Hope rose within her. Would she finally know who she was? Would she…?

He pulled a wand out of his back pocket and studied her face. “Must annihilate that trust and hope in you. No good feelings for you, my pet. No, we can’t have them now, can we?”

In a movement so quick and fluid she didn’t even see him move, he grabbed both her wrists in one hand and squeezed hard against them.

Pain rose and a cold wave seemed to settle about her heart. She wriggled and tried to pull away from him.

“Yes, this is a taste of it all, Erina,” he snarled. “Would you like more? Would you like a more satisfying taste?”

She gave one final jerk and pulled from his grasp, flying back against the damp walls. He covered the space between them in moments. “That is what I bestow upon you when you disobey me, Erina. That is your gift, your honor, and my love for you.” He coughed a laugh out. “Love. Such a peculiar word.”

She swallowed hard and pressed closer to the wall. He was far too near for comfort. Even in a dull mind she knew it. She knew not what ugly was or how rank he smelled, but she knew she didn’t want him nearer. She didn’t know what power he retained in that stub he held clasped tightly in a waxy, translucent hand.

But she knew she didn’t want anything to do with it.

He didn’t seem to understand that though.

She held her breath as his face came unbearably close to her own, as his eyes seemed to glow with a light from within, how the slits that were his nose flared as he exhaled. “You resemble your mother…”

She yearned to ask who that might be, who she herself might be, but she couldn’t for the smell prohibited her from doing so.

She closed her eyes and clenched her fists shut, begging, pleading with the tiniest voice in her mind, “Go away. Go away. I don’t want you near me… I don’t know who you are, but I don’t want you near me…”

“So sad I killed her,” he continued. “But she was such a bore. I tried to find you with her, but you weren’t there. She ran away. She betrayed me. She needed death. She was practically begging for it.”

She was ready to faint from holding her breath so long. She needed to breathe. She needed to. But she wouldn’t allow herself to do so.

He caressed her cheek with an icy finger and she pulled back.

Much to her relief, he stepped away from her then and resumed him dignified stance.

She took a much needed breath of air and opened her eyes. He was staring at her still. She hated his gaze. It was horrible. It hurt her more than anything.

“Stay where you are,” he commanded. “Don’t move.”

She obeyed immediately, hoping this would keep him at bay.

“It’s sad the pleasure of seeing them dead surpasses that of seeing you like this,” he sighed, “but I must do what I have to do.”

He muttered something and gave the twig a slight twitch.

She felt an odd sensation run through her. Her brain felt itchy and she wanted to reach up and scratch it. Then the feeling ran down to her face and through her nose and coursed down throughout her entire body until it slipped away, out the tips of her toes.

She didn’t notice anything different. With a sad sigh, she realized she still knew nothing.

But there was a subtle difference. She couldn’t see peripherally. When she tried to move her hand up to relieved the itch in her nose, it only twitched and stayed immobile at her side.

A horror surged inside her as she tried to speak and nothing came out.

She didn’t know anything more. She didn’t. She didn’t even control her own body anymore…

“What is your name?” snapped the man.

How can I answer? she wailed. I don’t know…

Words flew carelessly out of her mouth. “Merinah Gattes.”

What…?

He smiled a smile that radiated no mirth. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-five.”

“Your mission?”

“To kill Granger and Potter. What’s it to you, b******?”

She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t move. She didn’t know who she was. And she had the horrible feeling she was heading towards her death.

Yet a malevolent smile slipped across her serene face…

To be continued…

Thank you for the feedback. Gee, you guys are so nice! *sniffs* Makes me feel all tingly inside… ;) Thanks so much. And thank you so much for all those new reviews you’re going to give me for this, maybe?

Oh, and I forgot to say this in my author’s note! One more thing, I promise. Okay, two more things, but they’re really quick. One, this is short and I’m sorry. This is scratchy, and I’m sorry for that too. And two, I watched Return of the Jedi before writing some of this, and for those of you who’ve seen it (hopefully everyone!), you can probably tell… I was still upset over Annie dying, I’m sorry… But if you notice it’s a bit more angsty than usual, that’s why. I’m done now. See, this is what happens to poor Sommy when TPM takes too long to get out on video. She goes a bit, to put it lightly…mad…

Thanks. Feedback…please? :)