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Because I don’t know you anymore

I don’t recognize this place

The picture frames have changed and so has your name

We don’t talk much anymore

We keep running from the pain

But what I wouldn’t give to your face again

--Savage Garden, “I Don’t Know You Anymore”

Merinah Gattes, feeling refreshed but still somewhat tired, wrapped her soaking black hair up in a light blue towel in Egyptian style. She ran her hand along the floor to find her robe without looking down so that her hair wouldn’t fall back out immediately. She stood back up and pulled the silky lavender robe on and checked her reflection in the mirror. It’d been a while since she’d gotten out of the bathroom with someone else in the room and she wanted to make sure she wasn’t missing any articles of clothing.

She used her hand to wipe the steam off the mirror but failed, only smearing the droplets of water about the surface. Rolling her eyes, she grabbed a bit of the towel from her head and leaned down to wipe the mirror off.

She smiled in satisfaction at her own reflection, straightening the towel about her head again. She had to admit she was quite pretty. Okay, she was beautiful. She wondered on why Harry hadn’t questioned why she was single. She bit her lip. She was glad he hadn’t. She was afraid to tell him.

For Merinah Gattes wasn’t a normal witch in the least, and it wasn’t only in the Divinations area. She had a horrible secret in her past that explained why she was so vehement in her cause to help Harry Potter.

She hated her mother. She hated her so much…

She was the reason she was kicked out of school. It all had to do with prejudice. She hadn’t done anything wrong. It was just her lineage that had.

Why was she always blamed?

Sighing sadly, she wiped the corner of her eyes with the collar of her robe and then straightened it out.

Her last name wasn’t really Gattes. She wasn’t really American. And her father hadn’t really died.

Her name was really Erina Riddle, she was truly pure British, and her father was alive and ready to conquer the world.

She rubbed her forehead in frustration. She hated thinking about such things.

Her mother, Marian Gattes, had fallen prey to Voldemort’s fury and was taken into his prison. He’d abused her and made her his wife. Merinah couldn’t blame her for that.

But after a while Marian had lost her resolve and allowed Voldemort to use her to help him, to kill certain people whom he hated and were a threat to him. She also let him use his daughter, her daughter, Erina Riddle, for his evil doing. He used her, at three years old, to lure people into his grip so her could squeeze the life out of them. That had been after Harry Potter had destroyed him and he was using powerful wizards and witches like unicorn blood, using them to strengthen him.

She didn’t know what she was doing. Erina couldn’t be blamed for it.

Her mother finally snapped. Marian ran from Voldemort at his weakest, grabbing her daughter and fleeing to America. She changed her name to Marian Gattes and called her daughter Merinah.

Merinah never knew she’d helped Voldemort slowly gain his power in the long run until her true identity was uncovered while she was in witch college.

It had been a horrifying moment for her. The Ministry themselves called her to them and told her she was no longer allowed in the magic world. She was a threat, too powerful to be allowed. They had, at least, permitted her to live in the Muggle world as an outcast, and kept the reason she was expelled secret. No one knew the truth. No one but Merinah Gattes, the Minister of Magic, and Voldemort, the evil wizard.

The truth had haunted her for so long…

She took a deep breath and, trying to run from the thoughts, immediately pushed herself out of the bathroom.

It was dark inside so she figured Harry had gone to sleep. She hated to admit it but she was beginning to actually enjoy his company. She would have thought she’d hate him completely, after helping her father and destroying Hermione’s life.

She bit her lip to keep quiet and gently pulled the curtain back to reveal his bed.

He wasn’t there.

Merinah’s eyes widened in fear.

He hadn’t gone back to Voldemort and told him where she was…had he?

Clamping her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming, she felt around the floor in the darkness for her shoes, and, not caring she was dressed in a thin silk robe, a pair of flannel night pants, and a tank top, pulled them on. She jerked the towel off her head and tossed it to the floor.

She had to warn Hermione, even if Hermione had abandoned her. Maybe this was a way she could redeem herself for the horrible things she’d done when she was little.

Warn Hermione…

She grabbed her book bag (she figured she was on the run again) and pushed out the door. She ran down the winding steps, practically tripping over her own feet, and flew out the front door, leaving the pale owner standing at the register, blinking.

Hair flying wildly behind her, she ran in the direction of the blinking lights called Hogwarts. And a fate of darkness the light couldn’t penetrate.

Though Harry was exhausted inside and out, though his thoughts were almost suicidal and his world felt torn, he couldn’t help the soft fluttering of his heart as Hermione slipped her arms around him and he rested his head on her shoulder. After so many years of cold and barren sensitivity, it was a relief to actually have someone feel for him, even if it was in a type of angry pity.

“I don’t forgive you or trust you,” muttered Hermione into his ear. “Don’t even think it.”

He took a deep shuddering breath. “No. I wouldn’t.”

“Good,” said Hermione, “so long as we have that established.” She gently stroked his hair.

Harry was surprised at the warmth her touch spread through him, at how the tortuous emotions of the moments before fled quite quickly from his heart. He tried to control his tears and actually gained some ground this time. One deep breath after another calmed their flow, but his heart was beating as fast as ever.

“You’re shaking,” whispered Hermione. “You’re not supposed to be scared… I am…”

Harry laughed. “That’s why I’m so scared, Hermione.”

“Don’t you dare say my name,” she hissed, still running her long, slim fingers through his wild, static hair. “I still hate you.”

Harry choked and buried his face in her hair. She smelled like shampoo, he thought to himself. Herbal Essence. He pondered on how he knew what Herbal Essence smelled like and laughed quietly to himself as he realized it had been what Lavender Brown had used.

He thought it funny on how Hermione’s touch brought back such memories as this.

“You’re cold,” murmured Hermione.

“Leaving the dark arts won’t bring my inner heating system back,” replied Harry morosely. “Nothing ever will change what I’ve done the past years.”

“Like killing my parents,” Hermione snapped, suddenly pulling away from him. Her keen brown eyes roved his own but didn’t have the same power to hold them like Merinah’s. “Why did you do it, Harry? Why are you back, after…everything? You’re not wanted. Everyone hates you.”

Everyone hates you…

Harry had thought she was almost forgiving him. This proved she was far from it.

His head started pounding and he moaned and ran his hands through his hair. “I hate me. I hated me. I hate my life. I hated my life.” Squinting with the pain, he peered up into Hermione’s suddenly glazed eyes. “Comprehend?”

She seemed to be struggling with her decision on whether to trust him again or not. The only outward signs she made of it were a slight twitching of her left eye and her lips pressing into a straight line.

She acted so much like Harry’s old Professor McGonagall he had to laugh.

Her face rose into a sneer and a grimace mixed into one. “What are you laughing at?”

“Nothing…”

“Then don’t laugh!”

Life was an ironic piece of art. You think you know something is going to happen a certain way. You know it will. How can it warp into anything but?

Too many twists of your brush and you have a spot too dark to be anything by a ditch. You fall into it. You climb out. You go on. Turn after turn, walk through river after river, jungle after jungle, life and death, and you come across something so warped you no longer know what it is.

Harry’s mind felt like a tangle of loose noodles. He tried to weave through the madness and only got further stuck. He was at a knot now that he had to undo. And the road of life had taken another U-turn.

Hermione was acting the part he had been assigned. She was the one yelling and sneering and making Harry’s road just plain difficult. What Harry didn’t know was that she was only getting her revenge.

Hermione knelt down in front of him and he felt himself draw back, expecting her to strike out at him. But she only gently took his face into her tactful grasp and studied his face.

“Your skin is frozen,” she said softly.

Harry was slightly relieved that she couldn’t capture his gaze like Merinah could. He didn’t want her to see the scars of his past in them or the truth that he once didn’t trust her.

After a few minutes of a dawdling in silence, Harry thought Hermione had reconsidered. Maybe she trusted him now… He hardly dared to hope…

He deliberately looked her in the eyes; he couldn’t read her like he used to. Her eyes were glazed over in a way that seemed to make her cold, but warmth generated from her touch. Harry didn’t really understand the science of people’s emotions. He didn’t even understand his own. “D—do you trust me?” he whispered hesitantly.

“Trust you?” Hermione’s eyes suddenly narrowed and Harry winced as her nails dug into the delicate flesh of his face. “Why would I?” Harry felt a warm trickling as blood seeped out of the little cuts her nails embedded into his skin. “I trusted you once, Harry. I trusted you. You know what happened, eh? Do you know what happened?”

Harry’s breath caught in his throat in the pain in his face and neck. “No,” he gasped.

“You killed my ****** parents, Harry,” she hissed vehemently. “You destroyed my life and gave me insomnia in a matter of minutes. I’m now a paranoid, mentally unstable human being with no life beyond school, Harry.” She choked. “Do you know the only thing that every gives me any life anymore, Harry? Do you?”

His nose twitched and he had an urge to pry her fingers from his cheeks. He resisted it. He deserved this.

“Books, Harry,” she squeaked out. “Books.”

He wanted to say, “Wasn’t that what always gave you life?”

All that came out was a muffled gasp.

Hermione blinked a few times and seemed to realize she was killing him and pulled her nails out of his neck. She stared at them for a moment, not moving, as Harry lay gasping on the floor, clutching his neck.

And then she doubled over and let the tears fall.

What could he do? When you get a heart back, when you melt out of deep freeze, when you go to do right once again, you have to go all out.

Blood dribbling down his neck, he pushed himself to his feet and wrapped his arms around his pain’s maker.

He wondered what ditch he’d dug himself into now.

Hermione hated a lot of things, but she wasn’t a hateful person. Or was she?

Why was she being so mean? Why wouldn’t she trust Harry? Was she really that horrible?

It’s common sense, she told herself as she cried her heart out into Harry’s bloodstained neck; the blood she’d caused to run. She could feel it under her fingernails and somewhat liked it. She hated it, too, she decided.

She was curious about all of this, just the same. She’d always been a nosy person, so when something as odd as this scenario came around, she couldn’t help but ponder it.

“You have long nails,” said Harry shakily. “Very sharp.”

“You deserved it,” Hermione mumbled through her sobs. “You deserve whatever Satan can throw at you, Harry.”

Hermione winced, expecting him to lash out at her. Why was she being so careless? He would kill her either way, but if she bothered him too much, her death would be worse.

He was silent for a moment, but instead of striking her, he quietly agreed with her statement. “I know I do.”

It was at that moment she realized this really was Harry who she was dealing with. He was the only person she knew who would allow someone to speak so badly on him and refuse to strike out against it. She had always thought it a horrible flaw that he allowed himself to be driven down, and she understood finally what had happened to him.

All the years of allowing the hurt he felt at the insults to be crushed down, all the years of seeming to be under complete control of his self and his life, all the years of letting the emotions come out erratically, every now and then, all those years… It had come out when someone had pulled them out and feed them back to Harry in a way to fuel his power.

Hermione felt deep inside that Harry was really back now. But she couldn’t always trust her feelings, her intuition, because it was usually wrong. It was always wrong.

She pushed him off her and grabbed the edge of the library table to pull herself to her feet. Harry clutched his neck now and was struggling for breath.

Hermione wanted to yell at him again. She had emotions crushed inside herself too. Didn’t she have the right to scream them out, to lash out at something, anything?

No, a firm voice told her. No one has the right to cause another pain and suffering, Hermione. Don’t take your revenge. It’s in the past. Focus on now.

He’ll kill me.

If he does, you died a trusting, good-doing human who will have a wonderful life in heaven while he’s in Hell. Hermione, either way, you get the good out of it.

She wiped her face off with the sleeve of her robe and stared down at the blood under her nails. She hated it.

She hated hate too.

It would be hypocritical to preach about morals and evil when she refused to believe something good was before her and to save a life she could easily save. She would be doing exactly what she hated Harry for.

She wet her lips and closed her eyes, took a deep breath…and opened her eyes, no longer infested with hatred. Maybe life was turning in her favor again…?

She didn’t know.

But if she ever wanted it to do that, if she ever wanted to be free again, she’d have to meet face to face with her bonds and undo them.

The only way to do that was to meet Harry again, to know Harry again…and forgive him.

Could she do it?

She didn’t know. God, she hated not knowing things…

Merinah had never been very athletic. She hated to admit it, but her perfect body was a wonderful factor in being a great, evil sorcerer’s daughter. She winced when she thought about how she would look if she wasn’t powerful in magic. Every time an image of her this way came to mind, she’d squash it down by saying, Hey, it’s not as bad as plastic surgery…

But right then, as she ran—no, tried to run—to Hogwarts, she couldn’t help but wish she’d taken exercise a little more seriously. Her hair was a huge tangle of wet knots and hung in her face so that she could barely see where she was headed.

Morose thoughts kept trickling into her mind. Hey, where the hell did that tree trunk come from?… Oh, that hurt… I feel like someone’s stabbing me…

She lost her shoe somewhere along the road. She wondered why her robe was suddenly just shreds. She also wondered what she was doing and why. Hermione had never done anything for her, and neither had Harry. Why was she trying to save them both? Was she suddenly this super-person who wanted to save the world, the world that had never once done a d*** thing back for her?

Maybe it was because she didn’t want to turn out like her father, a cold being who didn’t live, just killed. Maybe she was trying to prove to herself and others that just because of her heritage she wasn’t bad. Bad blood did not equal a bad person. It took the person’s will to do that, and Merinah’s wouldn’t have it.

Her feet were no longer there; her skin seemed frozen; her mind was a huge jumble of this and that strung together so they didn’t make sense. The only thing that made sense to her then was one little phrase that repeated itself in her mind over and over until it was her only focus: Don’t become him…

To be continued…

Well, I seem to now be getting foreign reviews… You’re all too kind, really. I don’t deserve it. *grins* No, really, thanks for all the good reviews (that’s been waiting to come up for a while now), and I love getting them, so I’d appreciate it if you could write something in the little box under me… Please? Tankee tankee. (Translation: Thank you thank you.)