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I’ve got to be honest

I think you know

We’re covered in lies and that’s OK

There’s somewhere beyond this I know

But I hope I can find the words to say

--Vertical Horizons, “You’re A God”

“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” asked Harry abruptly, as Merinah paced back and forth in front of him. He was afraid she’d start a fire with the friction of the carpet and her socks.

She looked up just enough to give him a fiery glare before proceeding with her pacing and muttering. “See, the faster we move, the less likely we’ll be caught…but we can’t be unprepared… And I thought all my years of studying spying would be helping by…” she mumbled, tapping her chin with her fingers thoughtfully. “I mean, Hermione hasn’t spoken to me, really, since…since that time, so she…”

Harry was puzzled. His mind was whirring. He didn’t quite know if he should trust Merinah or not, but she was his only hope. He had to loosen his grip on the dark arts, on paranoia, if he wanted to piece his life back together.

But did that mean he had to risk being killed by trusting someone he really shouldn’t have?

The process of thinking everything out was almost as strenuous as the dark arts themselves. There were so many holes in the idea, so many loose strings:

Merinah had explained to him she would help him find Hermione because of a dream where Dumbledore told her to. She was a witch and had gone to the American School of Witchcraft and Wizardry up until her mother had kicked her out. She had finished her schooling, her seventh year, at the cheaper school in England, because her aunt couldn’t afford Hogwarts supplies and Hogwarts wouldn’t allow anyone to transfer so late, especially with all the dark arts movements going on. She lived down the street from the Granger house, so she and Hermione had become friends over the summer.

Then he’d come into the picture. Merinah had seen him destroy Hermione’s home and life. She was frightened out of her mind by him. But she still went to the second school for teachers with Hermione, mainly because Hermione wouldn’t go alone, and conquered her fears Harry Potter would come to get her.

Something had happened at the school that Merinah wouldn’t explain, and she was kicked out of her fourth year. Since Hermione had been close to the headmistress at Hogwarts (Harry’s own Professor McGonagall), the Transfigurations and Divinations spots were both free for Hermione and Merinah to take over next year. So, when Merinah was kicked out, the Divinations spot was clear and a very psychic witch was left on the streets with no where to go, her aunt having passed away, leaving her niece with nothing.

This had put a strain on Hermione and Merinah’s friendship, eventually ceasing any communication. It was just too difficult for a professor at Hogwarts to find spare time enough to write letters to an unemployed witch at a Muggle coffee shop.

“It was nothing personal, of course,” Merinah had explained to Harry, her eyes on fire. “Just because she goes and leaves me with crap on the streets, working in a frickin’ coffee shop, and never even sends me one frickin’ owl…” Her pale face regained some color. “I don’t blame her in the least.”

Harry couldn’t help feeling a bit helpless. Merinah had at one time been really good friends with Hermione. But she wasn’t anymore and their friendship had wasted away. Could Merinah pick up the pieces and help him convince Hermione he’d turned? Convince her to help him?

How could Hermione actually help him though? He couldn’t even understand his own thinking. He almost wished he’d never left. He was beginning to think he’d dug himself in a deeper hole. At least when he’d been with Voldemort he’d had somewhere to sleep, had money, had something to live for, even if it was only the fact that someone would bow to him the next morning.

What did he have to hope for now? He ground his teeth together in consternation. A little nagging was pulling at his soul and a wave of depression and gloom surged over him.

Don’t think, he snapped at himself. Just focus on one problem. Help Merinah plan. Maybe everything will look better then.

He forced his mind back into focus but not before some of his madness slipped out of his mouth. “I never did enjoy math.”

Merinah stopped her pacing and slowly turned to gaze at him in shock. “What the hell…?”

Harry suddenly realized what he’d said and tried to make up for it. “I mean, er…math! I mean…it was a puzzle, see, and this is a puzzle and I was…”

Her piercing blue gaze stayed on him for so long he felt himself sink down in shame. She looked away and he didn’t both to straighten his posture. Why lie any longer? This was just how he felt inside.

“I don’t know why I’m letting you ruin my life,” said Merinah harshly and suddenly. “Why should I give crap about you? Hermione doesn’t care about me, she proved that. You never did anything for me. I shoulda flown back to America.” She made her face into a sneer. “But what was there? That b**** known as my mother? Freddie? He didn’t give a d*** about me either…” She gritted her teeth and met Harry’s eyes again. “Yes, my life sucks like yours, Mr. Potter. But I didn’t ruin it.”

She kicked her table and it toppled over for the second time that day. She narrowed her eyes. “You come up with the plan. You can sleep on the couch. I’m already giving you more than you deserve, you b******. Let’s hope Hermione’s more of a saint than me.”

With that last comment, she turned on her heel and stormed down the hallway to her bedroom, leaving Harry staring after her, pondering what made her so mad, so suddenly.

Butterbeer was one of the few things that could always make Hermione feel better, which made the fact that she felt horrible so odd. The frothy, golden liquid sloshed around in the mug and Hermione stared down at it, almost mesmerized by it.

She wanted to cry. She wasn’t so sure why, either. She hated not knowing why she felt the way she did. She had thought she’d consoled herself out of her horrible feelings of terror at the school. She had thought she’d feel so much better at the Three Broomsticks.

Why did she feel worse?

She knew why, of course, in a way. She was hanging out with a bunch of her fifth-year students, and she could tell they obviously didn’t want her there. But Erika Dunhaven has insisted she join them. She couldn’t quite understand that either.

“When are we getting those essays back, Professor?” asked one of Erika’s friends, Patti Patil (Parvati Patil’s little sister, and even more annoying), breaking into Hermione’s morose thoughts.

“Hmm?” Hermione started, spilling a little butterbeer on the tabletop. She quickly wiped it up with a napkin. “What?”

Patti exchanged looks with her friends, all with sly grins on their faces but Erika, who looked annoyed to have such devious classmates and cronies. “I was wondering when we’re getting those essays back?”

Essays? Hermione couldn’t even remember this girl’s name rather than what essay she’d written. She sifted through her weary mind, trying to remember the essays. Essays. But all she could think of was the fact that not even butterbeer could save her now.

She inwardly slapped herself as tears rose in her eyes. “In a few days,” she squeaked out.

Another swapping of deceitful smiles and Hermione had to swallow down more sobs. What’s wrong with me? she thought. You’re not dead yet. Harry might not even be coming for you. Why are you worrying over something that might happen?

“Well,” said Patti, getting up, “I must be going. I promised my sister I’d send her some candy. I have to go get it.”

Her three friends that Hermione didn’t even recognize rose to join her, but Erika stayed seated.

Patti obviously didn’t like this. Her eyes narrowed into blue slits and her lips seemed to disappear, they became so thin. “Coming, Erika?” she almost hissed.

Erika didn’t seem at all fazed. She waved her hand, as if she were trying to wave Patti off. “Go on, I want to stay here a bit more.”

“Suit yourself,” said Patti like the more appropriate words for her to have said were I’ll kill you. “We’ll see you on the train.”

She swaggered off, her other three friends shooting looks like bullets at Erika.

Erika rolled her eyes. “Morons.” She then winced, as if expecting Hermione to reprimand her for calling a classmate a moron. Normally, Hermione would have done so. But she was feeling sick to her stomach and didn’t even bother an admonishing tut.

Erika regarded her teacher with a searching look, as if she were trying to read her mind. “Are you feeling okay, Professor?”

Hermione had never been one to lose control of her emotions. Well, not around strangers at least. She could recall times where she had around Harry and Ron. But she usually seemed calm, collected, and just plain strict, not a huge tangle of fear and regret stuck in a huge mound of tears.

When Erika had looked at her with such concern and let her friends leave her…she’d looked so much like Harry had before he’d…sunk down into darkness…

Hermione had a horrible brawl inside of herself as she fought down either tears or vomit…maybe both. Her face lost its color and her eyes seemed to sink lower and lower inside her face. The smile she forced onto her lips was so twisted it could have been a grimace. “I’m…fine,” she whispered. “Just…a bit stressed.”

Erika shook her head slowly, but let it go. Everyone always did.

The next morning, Merinah was a little less angry and was showing signs of a bitter type of cheerfulness. She kept making sardonic comments to whatever Harry said.

“It’s going to be difficult to convince Hermione to trust me again.”

“Oh, no it won’t Harry!” cried Merinah in false cheer. “We’ll just march on into her room and say, ‘Hey, Hermione, Harry’s really not all bad! He just wanted to rape you one time, no biggie. Now kiss and make up!’”

Or…

“How will we get into Hogwarts?”

“We’ll call McGonagall to come and drive our limo.”

It was quite exasperating for Harry, whose nerves were already strung to breaking point. He couldn’t understand Merinah. She was very moody, for one, but seemed nice and gentle most of the time. He had come to the conclusion that she was not a morning or night person, but quite a nice day person.

By ten o’clock the next morning, Merinah was kind and understanding again, which was a relief to Harry after having been harassed for not making Merinah any coffee. “After all I’ve done for you!”

She sounded awfully like Harry’s own Aunt Petunia, and he didn’t like that in the least.

After three cups of pure black coffee and two very glazed doughnuts, Merinah calmly sat down in her armchair and propped her feet up on the abused living room table. Harry sat down on the far end of the same couch, ready to plug his ears if Merinah blew up again.

“I have a plan,” said Merinah, licking the glazed from the doughnuts off her fingers casually. “We catch the Knight Bus to Hogsmeade, okay? We stay there a few days, lay low. Okay. And then I go see Hermione and try to convince her you’re all right. I know she probably won’t believe me. But I might be able to convince her. I have a little faith that she’ll trust you.”

Harry couldn’t help but feel hopeless with such a loose plan. He’d learned after many years of strategic planning that the best plans were often a bit more complex than “we’ll catch a bus and go for a visit.”

“What’ll we do if Hermione turns us in?” he asked uncomfortably.

Merinah curled her lips into a sneer. “We’ll go to Azkaban, dumb a**.”

Harry flinched. He’d pulled a nerve. The sweet Merinah was starting to go sour in less than five minutes.

She blinked a few times and straightened out. “Sorry. You’re just bringing back some bad memories.” She smiled brightly. “You’re a walking disaster, Potter.”

“Thanks a lot,” muttered Harry.

“But I have a…hunch…a feeling…” She paused. “Hermione loved you, Harry. You were her best friend.” She reached out to him with her eyes. “I hope that’s a bond not capable of being broken.”

“You’d be surprised at how fragile things really are,” said Harry quietly.

“Nah, I wouldn’t, Harry,” said Merinah, referring to him by his first name for once. “You’re forgetting my life wasn’t quite sunshine.”

She had a point. Harry hated how points were always the types of things that drove him down.

Merinah leaned forward suddenly, curiosity framed on her features. “Why exactly did you go bad, Potter, if you don’t mind me asking? If I’m gonna risk going to Azkaban for you, the least you can do is explain.”

Harry averted his eyes, but Merinah had a knack for catching them every time she tried. “I didn’t want to. It just happened.”

“How did it happen?” she demanded.

Harry hesitated and looked away again. But Merinah moved over so she was sitting down next to him. She grabbed his arm and made him looked at her. The cool blue of her eyes receded into a gentle gray and he felt himself suddenly poor it all out to her.

“He kidnapped me!” Harry cried. “He had me locked up in that…that cellar and fed me lies and changed my views and made me look at everyone I’d loved and analyze them. I didn’t want to. I didn’t hate my life. Even though Ron and Dumbledore died and I was an orphan… But I didn’t hate. I swear. But what would happen to you if you were locked up for months in a cold, freezing hole in the ground with a rotting old man hissing at you that everything you ever loved, everything you ever cherished, used you?

“I fought him, I swear. I refused to believe him. I told him to kill me. I told him I’d rather die than betray everyone I loved. But then, you know what he said? ‘Why love them when they hate you?’” He gulped and gasped for air, a flood of emotions he’d kept tame for five years breaking loose. The ground beneath him was shuddering and cracking and he felt as if he would burst into tears at any moment.

Merinah studied him silently, waiting for more. He didn’t want to tell her. He didn’t know this girl. She could have been a spy, could have been after his blood.

But he told her everything and the words flew out of his mouth without his consent.

“I couldn’t take it! I couldn’t fight him! I guess I was weak, I don’t know. But it was easier just to go along with him and allow him to use me, you know? So much quicker and easier to be evil.” He took a deep breath. “I’ll…I’ll never forgive myself. Don’t think I don’t hate myself for it, Merinah, because I do.”

“Why’d you leave?” whispered Merinah, a calmness on her face that made Harry wonder if she was sane.

“Why’d I leave?” repeated Harry. He shut his eyes against tears threatening to break loose. “I left because I couldn’t stand myself anymore. I’d rather be in Azkaban and know that I left it all than be in Hell knowing I didn’t.”

A somewhat gentle silence fell over them and seemed to cover Harry in a reassuring light. After a few moments, Harry opened his eyes and had calmed his breathing. He peered carefully at Merinah, to see how she was taking this.

Surprisingly, she had a small smile on her lips. She put a hand on his arm. “That’s what I thought,” she whispered. “You’re braver than you think, Harry. Not many people could walk away from Voldemort like that.”

Two things she’d said rang as odd to Harry. One: she’d said “Voldemort” not “You-Know-Who.” And second: she’d called him brave.

“I’m…I’m not brave,” he answered unsteadily.

Merinah’s smile widened and she sat up. “Then that’s what we need to work on when we get to Hogsmeade, before we meet Hermione. See, you ain’t gonna leave the dark completely until you believe you can, Mr. Potter.” She grabbed his arms and pulled him to his feet. “Let’s go. We have a bus to catch.”

Hermione hated feeling embarrassed, but she couldn’t help it after that horrible loss of control at the Three Broomsticks in front of Erika. It was quite humiliating to know your students saw you were in pain, unstable. She’d liked it much better when they’d thought her indestructible, stricter than Professor McGonagall ever had been.

It wasn’t a very flattering to be considered a real witch, but it was better than being considered a wimp.

She was sure Patti and her friends, not including Erika, had told the whole school Professor Granger wasn’t very stable.

The wall’s crumbling! Joy to the world!

She didn’t know whom she hated more: Patti Patil or the students who listened.

See, it wouldn’t have been so horrible if she could have tossed the blame on someone else. And she could. It’s all Harry’s fault.

But it wasn’t really his fault she couldn’t handle her fear, or her hope of survival. That was her own lack of strength, the cause of this, even if Harry had manipulated this weakness by killing off everyone she’d had left.

She would have gone to see McGonagall on any other occasion, any other reason she felt inadequate. But she wouldn’t go see her about Harry Potter. Her old teacher feared him more than Hermione did, and that wouldn’t help her at all.

So she was left on her own to mope her misfortune, trying to ignore the nagging feeling inside her, asking what she had left to live for.

Because if she went deeper into that little hector, she’d find something that should have made her feel better, but made her look at herself more hopelessly: Had Harry turned back? Was he coming to say he was sorry? Was he coming to pull her away from the quicksand she’d started to sink into after her parents’ deaths?

But, no. She couldn’t deny it.

He was the one who had made the quicksand. She knew never to trust the cause of her pain, no matter how stubborn or wrong she was.

She would never trust Harry Potter again, no matter what he did to try to convince her.

To be continued…(someday)

Thank you for the feedback again! Whoa. I’m actually getting a lot! Thanks. And…like the last two stories…can I have more? Please? *smiles* I guess I’ve had enough already, but… Anyway, thanks. Hope you liked this one too.