Pain Doesn't Cost a Thing by Ron x Hermione
Chapter Notes: I love you all and am happy to see reviewers who have stayed with me until the end. Thanks to Fresca for betaing.
“The three champions to the stage please,” the Minister announced into his wand that now acted as a microphone, the trio’s admiring fans standing up to cheer as the three advocates made their way up to him. Emma walked on the other side of Gregoria, allowing the other girl to separate herself and Brett. She couldn’t stand to even look at him without the waterworks beginning once again.
“So far there have been no real injuries,” the Minister told the three at a whisper, silencing his wand. “I would like it to remain that way, but you must be at full alertness and stay attentive to your surroundings in this task. The other two tasks have been child’s play compared to this one, I tell you, and trust me.” He gave them a wide-eyed look and nodded. “This third challenge has been designed and tested by the Ministers of Magic committee and the three Headmasters of your school. We all feel that it is exceptionally dangerous, and without proper wand handling and knowledge you could very well perish if you’re not careful. Very dark creatures rest inside these walls---” He motioned to the left of them and Emma saw, for the first time, a rather large building. Its walls were thick and made of brick; the only thing that they did not understand, though, was that it was circular. It seemed to house loads of rooms, however, because of its size. Emma could already feel her heartbeat quickening for the approaching task she would soon confront. “---And as you can see, it is almost an exact replica of the Department of Mysteries that the Ministry houses inside its own walls.”
Emma had not seen, though she had noticed a familiar appearance about it; she had heard about it in the Daily Prophet and in books in the library. She grasped enough about it, nevertheless, to know that it was a hazardous place within itself; to have the knowledge that the Ministry had placed ‘exceptionally dangerous’ things inside of it just placed the cherry right on top. Emma was once again beginning to feel the regret of entering.
“The Triwizard Cup is placed somewhere inside this maze-like building. You must reach it to end the task and to win the prize.”
They all nodded, their eyes dancing with excitement. He continued to speak more and more, saying many things that had already been said numerous times, but Emma just nodded and pretended to listen.
“Any questions?” he finally asked.
Once again, Gregoria was the one to ask the question. “How do we know who goes first?”
“Miss Collins finished first in the second task, and the points she received tied her for first with Mr. Macauley. Well, seeing as the points stand that the two of you are tied---” Brett shifted for a moment. “---You all will enter simultaneously. Miss Bonaparte will enter three minutes after the other two.
Silence ensued for a few more moments while the Minister examined them all critically. “Anything else?”
The three shook their heads and the Minister’s wand lit again. “So!” his voice boomed out onto the grounds, the students all turning around and quieting to hear what he had to say, “The task is about to start!”
“Oh, Miss Collins,” he said, putting a hand over his wand, “The key that you obtained in the second task. It will aid you immensely, though it is not needed. Since the other two champions didn’t get it, they will not have as easy access as you do, but do not try and slow down just because you have an edge.” She nodded, even though she didn’t have it.
Cheering and applause was delivered as the Minister continued to speak again, and before she knew it Emma found herself placed right before the entrance of the Department. Then, right after she heard a blast of a horn, she felt her feet stirring underneath her to get inside quickly. Her wand was in her right hand and ready to strike if anything dared approach, though she felt as if she wasn’t the one issuing all of these instructions that her body was now performing.
‘The other two tasks have been child’s play compared to this one.’
‘. . . Without proper wand handling and knowledge, you could very well perish.’
The words of the Minister surged through her head, echoing more and more feelings of the remorse of entering she felt each time she entered a task. But she had never heard warnings like these before--- they had always just stated to be careful and remember basic spells. This time they had actually hinted that her death could be in the making.
She turned corner after dark corner, finding shadows every way she went, knowing that something was just waiting to jump out at her. “Lumos,” she whispered, as to not alert anyone of her presence. Her wand tip ignited and she found that she could see, but not that far in front of her. The fog was thick and ominous; she wondered as to why fog could be inside a building, but she tried to force that thought to the back of her mind. She didn’t know what creatures existed inside here and needed to stay alert. The shouts of the crowd were becoming less and less apparent and were becoming quieter.
A mighty roar erupted from behind her, followed by a scream of panic.
Emma covered her ears and sung a joyful song to mask the terrifying sounds. It had been Gregoria. Only three minutes had passed? she thought. She tried to ignore the noise, her eyes squinting only to allow her eyesight to function. She walked ahead, going slowly at first, then swifter, realising that the faster she went the faster she would get out and be able to go to her own bright, friendly common room . . . She tried to glimpse the glowing cup, but even above her song she could still hear the erupting shouts of humans and snarls of creatures that she couldn’t see.
”If you’re happy and you know it clap your hands . . .” Emma’s timid voice shook, the small sound barely existing above the now still air. No cheerful person was there to listen to her shaky tune, communicating with her by supporting with the hysterical clapping of their own hands. She made an effort to applaud herself, but with her hands shaking so badly, ears covered, and wand clasped in her fingers, it was hard.
”If you’re happy and you know it stomp your feet . . .” A dry sob issued from her throat, a terror-filled tear now running down her cheek.
And she had thought she had been scared in the first task. The second task had been more about skill than actual terror, but this time she didn’t know what waited for her as she rounded each corner.
She went inside one room, fearfully thrusting her head around the corner before entering. Immediately the room began to spin, and she fell to the ground clutching her wand, feeling as if she were the bait that had fallen into the lions’ den.
When the room stopped revolving she stood up and gripped her wand even tighter. Dozens of doors surrounded her. It took all of her willpower to choose one, knowing that of course, with her luck that the one she would choose the one that would house some monster and slay her as soon as she opened the door. She finally relaxed her wand when she chose and reached the next room, in fear that the thin wood would snap in two--- then she’d really be in deep trouble. Her breaths came in rasps, her shaky legs trembling as she walked, her palms sweaty.
And then, she saw something coming toward her. It . . . didn’t look human. But as it showed itself and she realised what it was, she knew that it definitely wasn’t. A sneer filled his face, his eyes narrowed and hatred etched into his features. Emma mustered the worst, evil gaze she could, though she knew that it wouldn’t even disturb him. She took a step back and muffled a sob in her hands.
“No. No, it’s not you, please.” She turned around to go back out the way she came, but the door had vanished. She turned back around, but soon found that her feet were too rooted to the spot to get away.
A young man stepped out from the shadows, his blonde, sweeping hair hiding his face, his arms at his side. In his fingers rested a wand, a superior grin hiding his good looks.
“Brett,” she breathed, her eyes widening in fear and trying to back up. “Brett, please, just leave me alone. I don’t want to see you.”
“But I thought you loved me,” he said. His lips quivered shakily and then they compulsively broke out into a smirk.
“Please, Brett, just---- just go.” She turned away: she couldn’t even look at him. “Just find your own way, leave me.”
“I just wanted to thank you for helping me out so much, Em,” he said in a mocking tone, his face breaking into disdain as he looked at her. “I can’t do that, Em?”
“Don’t you dare call me that,” Emma snapped at him, finally turning around, her lips pursed and wand tight in her hand. She wanted to hex him so badly: she hated the boy in front of her--- no, she didn’t hate him, she realised, even after all of the things he had done to her. She still loved him even after all of this (that proved the crying fits and sad times in her dormitory), and that was one of the reasons she couldn’t bear to see him. She never would have thought that he, Brett, could have done something this horrid to her, so awful as to betray her, and then even dare to try and talk to her. He had allowed her to believe that he had loved her. It upset Emma deeply to know that it had all been a joke to him, where she had thought they could have been soul mates.
“Funny, I knew I loved you, too, Brett,” he said teasingly, a smirk playing across his lips as he stared at the snivelling girl in front of him. ”I always knew. He laughed evilly. “Emma, I swear, you’ve changed since your fourth year. You’re not as alert: you can’t sense disloyalty even when you know it’s coming to you. Merlin, it’s insane how I fancied you back then.” He shook his head, that signature grin still rooted on his face. “But you were always quite the looker, weren’t you?”
“So, I’m unintelligent and . . . you don’t even . . . you don’t even like me now?” she asked miserably, her eyes falling to the floor. She looked back up at him with a pitiful glance, trying to seek compassion from him, but it didn’t reap any results. She tried a different approach. “You told me you loved me, Brett! Lots of times, not just once! How could you do this to me?”
“How could I not do this to you, Em? You were so vulnerable, so pitiful.” He swept the hair out of his eyes. “Your abusive boyfriend and you had just broken up: I’m an old friend that you’ve been dreaming about ever since I left. The only reason you have friends is because of his old connections. Now you’re cut off completely, am I right?” He tittered. “That’s depressing.”
Emma sniffed, her eyes filling to the brim and overflowing with fresh tears, a sob escaping her throat at how unkind he was being, his touchy, cruel gestures reaching out to Emma and suffocating her.
“That first task--- you let me know that there were the Centaurs, Acromantulas, Giants . . . and you even told me which side of the forest to keep to to find that snake quicker. How do you think that I finished almost half an hour before you?”
Emma opened and closed her mouth, unbelieving at what he was saying.
“And the second task? I got Gregoria to hand that parchment to you to see if you could decipher it before me. I got it from my own Headmaster--- turns out that he really wanted to help me, but could only give me hints. So you’re smarter than me in at least some ways, Emma. Thanks for telling me the answer to the second task as well.” His grin became more pronounced; it seemed to be his evil trademark.
“But Gregoria didn’t recognise you! It couldn’t have been---”
“Polyjuice Potion is something that comes into great handy, Em. Who do you think Eva was hanging around with before you caught her with me?”
“I thought that she had found another Durmstrang boy to keep her company. That could have been why she was out of bed all those times. Not you!”
“I used the Polyjuice, but then I realised that it would hurt your spirit even more if you found out it was really me. Eva was in on the whole thing: your friendship must have had some rocky times for her to turn on you like that. You helped me with the tasks, always allowing me to place the best---”
“No. No, I just wanted to not allow you to get injured!” Emma’s eyes filled with tears. “And I wasn’t aware that I was helping you in the actual tasks---”
“Exactly. You were so blinded by love that you didn’t even realise that. I’ve just been pretending to care for you this entire time--- just so you’d give me what I needed to win this tournament.”
His words cut like a dagger in Emma’s heart. He had never even loved her? It had all been pretend to him? All those times they had kissed---- all those times they had exchanged words of passion, words of love--- all those times she had been comforted by him--- they had all been a waste of time and his way of gaining her trust; in other words, solutions in the tournament. She shouldn’t have bothered--- she had known it was too good to be true. She had known that there had to have been something to gain for him to cheat on her like that.
“I would have given up my own life for you and you think I’m nothing.” She shook her head. He was so appalling, so revolting, so changed from the amazing friend that she had once known. She tried her greatest not to cry: crying was a weakness to any attacker or foe, and Brett had certainly twisted himself into that. He was incapable of love it seemed.
“On the contrary, I do think that you’re quit the kisser. That was the most enjoyable part--- especially when Seth got jealous.” He smirked again. Emma felt nauseated. “I finally got the chance to redeem myself. I loved the admiring glances you’d get when we’d walk the grounds, hand in hand . . .” He was mocking her now.
“Shut up, Brett!” she yelled maniacally, bits of spittle flying at him as she attempted to gain control of herself. She put her face in her hands and stifled another sob.
His bantering grin faded and it turned into a scowl. “Oh, come on, Emma,” he spat, “you’re being such a bad sport.” He took a step toward her.
“What do you think that your parents would think of you?” She took a step back. “What they would say at what you’ve grown up to be?”
“I guess it doesn’t really matter--- I’ll be out of school this coming year, so they won’t have to ever look at my horrid, conniving face again.” He raised his wand. “Not like you will either.”
“You’re sick,” she said as she took another step back, trying to decipher a way to get away from him. Why had he raised his wand? Was he going to hex her so he could really win now?
“Oh, Emma, you’re so pretty when you’re angry.” He lowered the wand, but instead reached out a hand to touch her face, his slimy fingers only an inch away . . .
“Don’t!” She swiped an angry hand at him, but his reflexes were faster than hers. He pulled away before she made contact. “Please, please just leave me alone.” She had fallen to the ground, more and more gasps escaping her throat as he continued to speak to her. “Go and win this stupid tournament, that’s what you want, isn’t it? Please, Brett.” She crawled into a corner, leaning against a door for support as she managed to take in lungfuls of air. “GO!” she screamed. She couldn’t believe this: she wanted this event, this happening to all be a dream as well, but as she blinked her eyes again and again as she had before, the same ugly face of Brett rested in front of her.
She finally found the courage to get away from him. Her mind in total wreckage, she broke off into a sprint, knocking into him as he attempted to impede her, but she just pushed away and turned around another corner. She was going to hurriedly conclude the task and be rid of ever speaking to him again.
~ * ~
Throughout all of what she had been through, Emma was and still remained a Hogwarts Triwizard Champion. That within itself drove Emma into insanity searching from spinning room to darkened room to terrifying room, trying quickly and diligently to find the cup that housed her winning of the tournament. She only tried not to think of Brett as he too crazily searched the place for signs of the trophy.
Her search had heeded nothing, unless you counted the presence of a timid Ashwinder amongst burning eggs (of which she had had to put out and place an Everlasting Freezing Charm on), a curious and deadly Acromantula (curious to know what she tasted like), a room that had appeared give shelter to brains inside jars, a rather massive room with a twenty-foot pit in the center that she almost fell into, as well as benches and a fluttering veil that Emma oddly heard voices coming out of (she didn’t even try and go near it), and a terrified Gregoria, who, in an attempt to defend herself from anything that moved, had timidly shot spell after spell at Emma while she had dodged them, eventually exposing herself to the girl after she, Gregoria, had finally collapsed from exhaustion and trepidation.
The doors revolved around her every time she went out of another. The first few times it had happened she had thought something had gone wrong and alarm had streamed through her veins. But once she had been trapped in the same situation with Gregoria and she had looked as if it were nothing, Emma figured it ordinary. She had gone on with only doubts of losing.
But she soon ran right into Brett again as she was going into one room and he out another. He only smirked as he picked himself off the floor as they had knocked each other down, Emma cowering to it as if it was actually protecting her from his awful presence. He just made to walk right on past her, but something stopped him.
The door that he was no trying to enter was locked. His hands fumbled with the knob, an angered stare coming upon his face as he realised that he couldn’t get it open with basic charms and spells. He gritted his teeth and Emma saw a muscle twitching in his jaw.
But he suddenly seemed to remember something. He reached inside his pocket, pulling out a small, black skeleton key. Emma’s key that had been stolen.
Curse words surged through Emma’s brain as Brett put the key in the lock and turned it. Something clicked and Emma heard a soft, tinkling music playing. The door swung open to reveal a mystifying, beautiful room adorned with bright, shimmering lights. But as Emma peered closer, she realised that they weren’t stars--- the lights were the reflection of the cup.
Brett looked at Emma one last time, but something seemed to impede him from continuing on. Emma just wished that he would go in and grab the cup, announce his victory, and then get out of her life. She still lay sprawled on the floor.
The cup, gleaming in all its startling magnificence, rested only feet away from Emma, she finally realised bluntly. Brett’s eyes still darted from Emma to the cup, eventually realising that his feet had to get into gear if he wanted it. He picked up a foot, but then stopped.
Emma felt the air suddenly go freezing; she shivered inside her thin t-shirt, the threadlike trickles of sweat dripping down her forehead turning to ice. Her heart jumped and then began beat erratically. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. Images of horrid, terrifying things filled her mind. She closed her eyes to rid herself of them, but the darkness under her eyelids only made them worse. She scooted into the room Brett had just unlocked and he filed in past her, brandishing his wand. She didn’t even think to grab hers: it had been knocked to the other side of the room by the sudden crash.
But Emma’s breath clogged inside her throat when she saw what was coming.
A Dementor. It slunk into the room, its cloak billowing and swarming the air, its putrid breath filling Emma’s nostrils and making her want to either retch or gag, but she couldn’t because she was so frozen in fear. Brett didn’t budge: he just gawked with a detached gaze at the creature that now was coming toward them. Emma stared.
They were the same distance away from the cup, both on opposite sides of the room, both aware that if they grabbed it they would win and be transported back to the outside of the task where their jovial fans waited to witness the results and congratulate the winner of the entire competition. The Dementor would disappear and so would their fear. But neither seemed to keen on alerting the Dementor of movement. They just stood there, waiting timorously to see what would happen, hoping against all hope that it would just leave. The suspense was killing them both. Emma dared to jerk her head toward Brett to see his plan, but he had his eyes closed, head bent as if praying, whispering something into the air that was out of earshot.
The creature finally began to slowly inch its way toward Emma. Her eyes widened: she backed into a corner, her legs not wanting to cooperate. Why had it chosen her?
But she soon could not wonder on her own accord anymore. Dark and evil thoughts erupted into her brain, making her want to scream not only out of terror but out of fury; she did not want these memories being brought back up inside of her. Anything that even attempted to was a horrid being.
Her mother’s tearful expression sought its way into her focus. She had to give in.
”Emma,” she started, “Your . . .” she let out another sob, allowing her eyes to divert to the other side of the room. Her eyes were half-closed, puffy, and swollen inside their sockets, her cheeks tear-streaked and red. Emma sat down on the couch with large eyes.
“What’s wrong, Mum?” she asked, scooting closer. She had never seen her mother in such anguish.
“Your father . . .” she finally dared look back at Emma and cleared her throat. “Emma, D---Daddy went to Heaven.”
Stillness filled the room, silence encompassing the two, but only for a moment. Emma’s heart felt as if it’d dropped a thousand feet and been stepped on. She didn’t know why, but she immediately knew that her mother was telling the truth: she didn’t know how but she did. This was not an idea of a joke, even for her mother, a very humorous person. They both broke into a sob at the same time, splitting the calm into bits and pieces.
“Please . . .” Emma muttered, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “Please, Brett . . . I don’t know how to fight it . . .” The horrifying images still littered her mind, and she found herself reliving the worst moments of her life. The Dementor glided closer, the cup casting dim light upon its horrid cloak as it billowed toward her. She could feel it sucking on the air; she could see her breath and feel her own body weakening from its presence. She backed into a corner and tried to find her wand. She closed her eyes again as Brett trembled into a corner on the other side of the room.
“Brett, my Dad . . .”
But he wasn’t paying attention; his face remained unmoving in apprehension upon the Dementor. He knew what the beast was doing: frightening thoughts were most likely clenching Emma’s mind and she was reliving the most unpleasant moments of her life. Her father’s death would definitely be at the top of that list.
But he too could feel the effects.
“Macauley! I know that you just moved here from God knows where, but I’m damn tired of hearing you whine about how you miss your girl back home.”
“Sorry,” Brett mumbled, his eyes averting to the floor in his dormitory. He threw his half-written letter onto his end table and muttered under his breath. He missed Emma so much, but in an attempt to contact her he was always halted by this boy.
The boy, Aldric Delven, stood almost twice Brett’s own size, towering over him as he rested on his bed. His muscles bulged out from his blood-red Durmstrang uniform; it was clear that he prided himself in torturing others. He was a boy that didn’t like to hear about anyone else’s fears or guilt or pain; he was the one that mattered, he was the top student. He was the pride of Durmstrang and he wanted himself known. He was in Brett’s year.
“Sorry doesn’t cut it you stupid son of a---” He closed his eyes, trying to not allow his fury to get to him. He shook his head and took a deep breath. “Don’t make me do something I’ll regret.”
“I’m tired of you picking on me,” Brett said, almost at a whisper. He sat up and picked his eyes back up to rest in the boys’ own raging ones.
The boys in his dormitory almost burst into laughter; that was not the type of thing that you wanted to say to a person of that volume, especially one that was already incensed. Their eyes widened in fear for Brett--- he was a well-likeable enough guy, but they couldn’t choose to hang around with him if he was going to stand up to the year’s bullies. They themselves would become a target as well.
Brett felt a harsh blow to the cheek before he even saw it coming. The next morning he was so bloodied, bruised, and humiliated that he couldn’t even go to classes.
That boy had stopped his letters to Emma.
Bret had learned to treat pain with pain. Others would have to suffer because of his own insecurities--- Emma also.
Emma shuddered from the cold and her teeth continued to chatter.
Brett leaned in to kiss the other girl, a smile erupting from his lips as he glimpsed Emma. Eva stood stock still, her expression firm and humorous as she saw her best friend staring at them. She closed her eyes for yet another kiss from the boy, a grin frozen upon her face.
Emma burst into tears before she had even left the corridor, the glimpse of the blubbering girl not even fazing the two as they continued to stare into one another’s eyes.
She raised her wand, searching for a happy memory to fill her up, instead only seeing the Dementor sliding toward her at an alarmingly fast rate. The tears continued to glide down her face. She knew what to do in these situations, she had just never had to perform it in front of one to save her life. He was only feet away from her now, the cup the same amount of distance the other way but still, she could not find the strength to even get to her feet.
She slowly turned her head to where Brett stood, his eyes wide and expressionless as he stared between the cup and Emma. He was trapped. A last piece of the sane part of his mind began to take over and he attempted to help Emma. He raised his wand.
The happiness was quickly sliding away from her. No cheerful thoughts could be found within her, Emma discovered, and she soon found herself sinking into nothingness as she stared at Brett’s face on the other side of the room, his wand raised in the air. But then he lowered it and only watched as he realised that the creature in front of them was not heading for him. The smirk returned. The Dementor was pulling back his hood. Emma could closely see its rotting, scabby hands reaching for her . . .
“Don’t do more damage than you’ve already done to me. Please help me!”
The voice was utterly pitiful: the sound in itself would have made any decent person’s heart melt and make them run to lend a hand, but Brett’s was stone. He cared for nothing and for no one. He was out of the Dementor’s icy grasp now. He took a step toward the cup.
“Emma,” he said, crouching to his knees and getting only feet away from her face with his, just far enough back to stay out of reach of the Dementor. His hand reached swiftly for the cup, but before he grabbed it he decided to speak. Emma closed her eyes, wishing for death and over and over again that she were anywhere but there. Brett smirked again. “My damage has just begun.”
A ghastly, terrified scream surged through the air only a moment later.
~ * ~
Emma’s mother sat in the front of the Great Hall, her eyes swimming with tears as the shed ones remained plastered to her face, making her cheeks turn a shade of crimson and her eyes puffy in their sockets. Her hands remained clasped together and she didn’t avert her eyes to anyone. She had now lost all of her family; her husband and daughter were both gone. She had only felt this way one other time, and that had been for her husband.
She too would never be happy again. It was as if an invisible Dementor was sucking on her life as well, never ceasing. She closed her eyes in anguish at how horrific her daughter’s death was.
“Emma Collins’ . . . death was a great blow to Hogwarts. Her vivacious appearance kept us going, while her intelligent mind and lively personality lit up even our darkest days.” Professor Groban began his speech in an air of sadness, his eyes shining with tears. “I myself had the opportunity to speak to Emma over the years, and I know that her sensitive being and intense friendship appealed to many. I know that her companions are deeply hurt by their loss, as well as her family.”
Sobs were issued and sniffles were covered by coughs and muffled by handfuls of robes.
Ms. Collins had always wondered about the special something inside her daughter. At the age of fourteen she had already experienced death, something that nearly killed her as well. But Emma had been Ms. Collins ray of sunshine on those days, and she had only stayed alive and not joined her husband because of that little girl’s silky black pigtails and shining eyes. She had been her only solace in her darkest times.
But also, Emma had told her things . . . disturbing things. She had spoken to her, twice in her lifetime, always apologising afterward but still being firm about it. She had spoken of her own death, first at the age of twelve, secondly just this past summer.
”Don’t be so morbid, Emma!” Ms. Collins retorted, a wave of shock coming upon her face.
“Mum, please--- listen to me. I don’t want my funeral to be gloomy. There’s no point. I want my life to be celebrated, not mourned over. I want it to be happy, with all of my friends there. I don’t want anyone to be dressed in black: all bright colours, colourful flowers, and cheerful faces.”
“Emma, please, I don’t want to talk about my daughter’s death--- I’m supposed to die before you---”
“Mum, look at Dad,” she said bluntly, “his death was unexpected, too---”
“I said that I didn’t want to speak of it.”
Silence ensued for at least a minute with only the sound of Ms. Collins’ dishes being scrubbed a she washed them before Emma spoke again.
“Mum, I--- I have this kind of . . . block . . . when I think about my life out of Hogwarts. I can’t think of anything but being a student there--- I can’t think of being an adult. There’s a barrier separating my childhood and adulthood. Every time I start to think of what I want to be when I grow up, I lose track of what I’m thinking or become bored or . . . or something. I just can’t think of it, it’s impossible. I’m approaching my seventh year and it still isn’t working. The only thing I can think of is that I’m not meant to live past Hogwarts.”
“Emma . . . please, don’t talk that way. Don’t hurt your mother---”
Now that she thought about it, Emma’s mother realised that she had never heard her daughter talk about what she had wanted to be when she was an adult. While most little boys wanted to be a fireman or a policeman and girls wanted to be ballerinas and beauty stars, Emma had never spoken once about what she wanted to do.
“Mum, I don’t want to upset you, please, let me allow you to know that. I know how hard Daddy’s death was to you: it was the same for me. I still shed tears when I think of him. I just wanted to let you know my wishes in case something ever happened to me.”
And now was the time that Emma’s mother finally realised that what she said was spot on, and she couldn’t stand it. Her father had always told her that she would do great things, but now he was gone and could no longer tell her that. There was probably no inspiration left for her. She had made it this far--- she would have finished school this year. She had been there to assist her mother in the shadowy times during her father’s death, but now was the time for her to do it on her own. She could no longer lean on a little girl to allow her life to go on.
But Ms. Collins would respect her wishes as best she could: happy colours and bright flowers she could accomplish for her funeral--- but cheerful faces . . . she herself would not be able to show that, but would definitely try--- for her daughter.
“Since Brett Macauley was the one to pull her from the intense wreckage inside the replica of the Department of Mysteries that myself and the Ministry members created for the third task, he will receive a medal for his services. I know that Miss Collins would have wanted one of her very best friends to hold such an honour, even if she isn’t here to see it.”
Kelly and Eva sat near the front, looking over to Emma’s mother occasionally, tears falling afresh down their faces and into their laps as their Headmaster spoke. Emma’s body, covered with a gold and crimson blanket lay behind him, unmoving. They both had stared, marvelled, at the sight of a body that had once housed a spirit they had loved so much, and had gasped in shock that it was now on display for humanity to see. They hadn’t glimpsed Emma’s actual body, but they saw her wrapped up and only feet away from them which caused enough heartache. If they had seen her face, her lifeless, unfastened eyes staring at them, they surely would have retched upon the sight and had to have left the room.
“I never should have kissed Brett,” Eva whispered over and over, the guilt etching into her face and she feeling as if everyone could see and knew what she had done. “I know she died hating me for it. I know she did.” She rocked back and forth in her chair while Kelly attempted to shush her.
Seth was even in tears; after all those years of Emma’s friendship, she was gone. Even if their break-up had been vicious, he realised that he hadn’t ever stopped loving his first love. But now Emma was no more and he would never see her again: he had already known that he would never be able to hold her in his arms again and kiss her, calling her his own, but he never would have thought she would have been dead before their seventh year had ended. It was heart-wrenching to him.
But the worst of all was Brett. As the sane and insane pieces of his mind began to battle with the other, trying relentlessly to take over and not let the other succeed before it did, he found mixed feelings surfacing.
You killed Emma. You let her die. All you had to do was utter two words and you didn’t. You’re sickening. You should have never allowed her to believe you loved her.
But she deserved it. She didn’t know what you had been through at Durmstrang. She only thought that you two could pick up where you left off. She was still a child while you had matured greatly. She wasn’t worth your time. Who cares even if you did kill her? It was the Dementor’s fault, not yours. That’s plain to see.
For every dispute, there was a counterargument. For every tear, there was a reprimand. Brett felt himself breaking down, but when the other voice would speak it would be like a slap to the face.
But you could have helped her. The Dementor was placed inside those walls to challenge you. She couldn’t triumph, so you should have helped her. If you would have saved her life then her kind-hearted being would have allowed you to win. But now her body lays up there on that table, lifeless, and it’s all your fault.
Brett cringed and felt tears appearing in his eyes. He had killed Emma. Brett had tried to tell himself that he hadn’t been responsible--- that it had been the Dementor’s fault and not his, which was true, but now that made no sense.
Who the hell cares? the insane voice came again, Macauley, Durmstrang prides itself on winning these tournaments--- you’re the only champion, it was your responsibility for the cup! Emma had to wait--- that cup was yours, and you took it. Your Headmaster would have murdered you if you had saved a life rather than won those Galleons.
Brett nodded, indicating he understood. This voice was starting to make some sense. He hadn’t after all. The Ministry should have been more careful with what they had put inside the task, he thought when the thoughts of his responsibility of her death entered his mind.
But now God will punish you for killing one of his innocent children. You let a precious life die for a few days’ glory and some coins.
Aldric would have murdered you. He already almost did because he wasn’t chosen and you were. You know that he prided himself in his schooling and beating up on kids--- if you had lost the tournament for saving a life (especially Emma’s) when he could have won, you wouldn’t have a life that could get glory. If you would have lost the tournament for Durmstrang you would have gotten an even worse beating than you did in your fifth year.
Brett didn’t know what to think. Between trying to build a defence telling himself that he hadn’t murdered Emma and keeping in tears of laughter and smirks of contempt, Brett’s mind was working overtime. One part of him was telling him one thing while the other told him another. One caused him remorse and pain, another amusement and scorn for the girl. Durmstrang and the evil within it had housed monstrous and terrible feelings inside of Brett.
But the sane part of him attempted to take over him again.
You made her believe you loved her. That’s the lowest thing, Brett. She had nothing but love for you and you just spit it in her face and murdered her. You are nothing. Nothing. How could you not love someone who you had spent so much time with over the past few days and years past? And worse, you did it to the other one too, but you didn’t hurt her like you did Emma. How could you not even come to like Emma, yet as a friend, even if you were pretending?
He didn’t know. He didn’t know.
“The days she spent on this earth and in our hearts will be forever treasured . . .” Groban continued. Brett could sense that his speech was nearing its end.
You didn’t have to love her. You can possess a friend that you hold hatred for. You’ve done it twice already, you’ve proved yourself. And you are something, a great something. You have to be good to pull off the kind of acting you did. Durmstrang would be proud.
And those words hit his heart. Durmstrang would be proud. Those words in themselves were his pride and joy, the ones he had been hoping to hear before he departed the school. His heart surged and a permanent smirk rested upon his tear-stained face. He wiped them away, battling within himself not to burst into uncontrollable laughter. It was so sad how she couldn’t even blast a Dementor away!
If guilt was what he was supposed to feel for the sane part of him mind, what did his insane part believe? Brett felt no shame for her death any longer. If he was meant to be charged with her murder then it would have been done--- everything happens for a reason, and since he hadn’t been caught then that meant that he still had a chance to do great things. But the fact that one ounce of sanity still raged on, battling inside his brain with the other part, was something. Even though it told him the truth--- that the dying girl could have been saved if he had opened his mouth and made a wand movement, he didn’t trust it. He had changed from the boy he once was at Hogwarts.
Something was terribly wrong with Brett.
He sat near the back, his face now showing utterly no signs of emotion. He wanted to leave--- this was the most boring thing he had been to in his life. Why was he even here? People only came to a funeral if they had loved the person that had died? Brett didn’t even like Emma, so there was no point in his presence. A smirk still attempted to burst through him, but he knew that (even though he was insane) if he let that smile slip then he would be charged. He felt no remorse for the death he had seen happen in front of him. He felt no remorse for what he had done. And he definitely felt no remorse for winning that tournament. He wasn’t a murderer, though any onlooker would have indicted him on the spot. What he had done was worse than murder. What she had experienced was worse than death.
When he had first entered Hogwarts, well aware that Emma Collins still stayed inside its walls, he had immediately thought of the plan that had commenced. While he had not thought it would get this carried away, ultimately resulting in her death, he knew that he couldn’t blame himself for not seeing it coming--- he wasn’t a Seer. He had known he would seduce her into thinking he loved her for the price of a thousand Galleons and a cup. He was just that twisted and sick. That one sane part of him lamented her death, though that part was gone.
But, a thought in his mind told him, If you wouldn’t have done what you had done, you wouldn’t have received the win. Brett nodded in understanding of his thoughts. He rolled his eyes as the reasonable piece spoke again.
But if you had just flicked your wand and uttered two words, Expecto Patronum, then her life could have been saved.
However, Brett was no longer listening. He was reliving that moment. The tournament’s cup had glinted with blazing glory across his eyes, and at that instant the sane part of his mind had dissolved, and he would much rather have had the win than helped another champion. It had been so beautiful. All of his hopes and dreams rested with just touching a finger to it. If he had helped Emma, hat would have given her a chance to prevail and his dreams would have been forgotten, just like they had already so many times in his life; besides, she could have been feigning her pain, only wanting him to come near so she could hex him and grab the cup for herself.
How very wrong he was, and the body in the front of the Great Hall proved it. That deceased girl would continue to haunt him in his dreams for years to come, never ending his penitence for the death of a person. The sane part of his mind would now only be able to take over in his dreams. He could never be sure if it was right to blame himself or not, though his dreams would continue to challenge that. If he asked another person, then he would be held accountable, he knew, so there was that answer right there. He was lucky no one else knew what he had done, not even Gregoria, who sat on the other side of the room, hushed tears being shed into her lap. She had been only in the next room during Emma’s death, fully aware of the competition that stirred inside of Brett; she had seen what he had done to Emma. He had blatantly cheated on her to crush her spirits. However she had no clue that he was actually responsible for her death.
The trusty thousand Galleon prize was safely within his locked trunk, given to him without ceremony by the Minister of Magic. He was just waiting on this stupid ceremony to finish before he could go back and finger the delicate bag he had placed the coins in, the shimmering gold flashing before his eyes and hallucinating about his dreams again. He had received word that his Headmaster would be transferring the remainder of his school back to their own the next morning, bright and early. There was no real use to remain behind, and Brett felt no sorrow in having to. There was nothing to stay for; he had only gone after Eva romantically to hurt Emma, and that task had been completed permanently now. He didn’t want nor need to stay to continue a relationship with Eva.
When the funeral was over, he made sure to go over to Ms. Collins and pay his respects to the grieving mother. It was the least he could do for giving her this gift, even though he could care less.
“Oh, Brett,” she said as she walked up to him. She wrapped her arms around his tall figure. She held him for a long while; Brett could feel her tears falling down his neck and into his dress robes. She kissed his cheek as she pulled away. “I haven’t seen you in such a long while. I always considered you as a second son. I only wish that Emma could have seen your friendship throughout all of her life instead of having to have missed out on it for those two years.”
He paused, searching for words that didn’t make him sound guilty. “Er--- So do I.” Ms. Collins heard no hesitance, though, for she had just sobbed into her handkerchief. That horrid memory of Aldric floated into his tattered mind. If it hadn’t been for him then maybe he and Emma could have been together and this wouldn’t have happened . . .
Don’t go blaming other people, his mind told him.
“But we made up for it,” he continued, “I know we did. Excuse me.” He fought a grin that wanted to surface.
And then he walked away without a reluctant look. Ms. Collins just stared after him.
She wondered why the boy had not been grieving; she knew that he was, even after all this time, best, best friends with Emma and had even been her boyfriend at times during her life. If she had looked back from her chair to see him or had heard the battle going on persistently inside his mind then she would have known why.
Ms. Collins had received letters from Emma all throughout the tournament, but her last one had been the day after the second task, and it had been full of happiness and best wishes: not of sadness and despair--- the very feelings that she, Emma, had been feeling right after that letter had been sent when she had caught Brett with another girl--- of course, even more heart-wrenching, Eva. But Ms. Collins knew nothing of Brett’s betrayal and of course the heartbreaking emotions that her little girl had had to feel because of him. She most definitely didn’t know that with his help he would have been able to save Emma, but he had chosen to stand in the shadows and only think of fame and Galleons.
Brett filed past the other anguished students, all wishing to go to either Eva and Kelly, Ms. Collins, or Professor Groban for comfort, who all seemed ready to leave and never glimpse sight of this room again. No other student knew of Brett’s betrayal of Emma except for Eva, Kelly, and Gregoria besides himself; it hadn’t been spread. Absolutely no one knew about what had happened during the hour that Emma’s death had commenced but Brett besides Emma, who was dead, so could tell no one. It would forever remain that way.
Or so he thought.
Brett walked to the massive doors of the Great Hall, that terrible grin escaping his lips as he looked at Emma’s sheltered body one last time. The funeral was over and so was Emma’s life. Whatever he had done in the past was finished. There was nothing he could do to change it, no matter how many times the other division of his mind attempted to seize control. He then walked out of the room, out of Emma’s mother’s life, and into one filled with dedication, hardship, and treachery.
Professor Groban watched Brett Macauley leave the room, thinking as he saw him that he was only leaving to get away from all of the sadness and grief of the loss of his best friend. But he turned back around and stared at Emma’s limp body on the table, and Groban saw no sign of regret, longing, or most of all, tears (Brett had vanished them when the combat had ended.
Professor Groban was an accomplished Occlumens. Only one voice filled his ears as he stared at the back of Brett’s head.
You did it. You succeeded in winning the tournament. You succeeded in getting what you wanted. And it all happened because of one little disposal . . . one little mishap . . .
Professor Groban saw the boy give a hearty grin and chuckle.
It wasn’t your fault. She was worth nothing anyhow. You didn’t even need to kill her yourself. You watched the Dementor do it for you. You could have helped but chose not to. You worked your plan brilliantly.
A secret smirk again.
Brett turned around and saw the Professor striding toward him, his mouth opening and closing in shock, shushing anyone who attempted to come near him. Brett, wide-eyed and panic-stricken, walked around the corner and when he was out of sight, broke off into a run. He didn’t know why the Professor was coming after him, but he wasn’t going to stay around and find out.
He couldn’t Apparate within Hogwart’s walls: she had been the one to tell him that.
Brett dashed from the hall as fast as he could, all the time thinking that there was no possible way that the man could be behind him--- that he could know what he had done, but he was incorrect.
“Stop!” Groban called out, his mind whirling and becoming dizzy in an attempt to catch up to the fleeing boy. There was no one to aid him; every soul in the castle (save for him and Brett) was within the Great Hall, still mourning over Emma Collins. They had no idea what they were missing. There was no way he could summon help without getting left behind.
Brett wheezed once, his feet flying underneath him so he could reach those black, high gates to escape. He soon hit fresh air as he opened the heavy front doors, gulping in mouthfuls of it as he still ran as fast as he could, a heavy stitch beginning to form in his side. The Headmaster wordlessly fired a blue hex right past his ear, just narrowly missing him. It appeared to be a binding curse, but Brett couldn’t be sure.
But as soon as the curse had skipped him, he disappeared into thin air right outside the gates, his evil grin being the last thing Groban had seen before he had Apparated. There was no point in continuing the pursuit; he could be on the other side of the world at that time.
Groban stood rooted in the unchanged spot for a while. Even after he had come to his senses and realised what had just commenced before his eyes, he still couldn’t believe it. Brett Macauley allowed a death to happen right in front of him? What in Merlin’s name could have driven him to stoop so low? And Groban had seen the way the two, Brett and Emma, had loved each other and gotten along during the past week--- they had been a perfect couple in the eyes of anyone who had looked upon them.
Groban couldn’t work out a definitive reason for Brett’s actions, but his only guess was that Durmstrang had changed the boy, turned him evil on the inside. The move he had taken in his fifth year had forced him to lose something that he wanted more than anything in the world: Emma. That in itself was enough to drive a person mad, especially Brett. But that still didn’t explain as to why the girl had had to be murdered for Brett to obtain the triumph.
He had been turned into a cruel being. His cruel actions just made that evident.
He would make no attempt to tell anyone what he had just heard or done. There would be no purpose; he knew that even with intense search that the boy would not be found. Professor Groban’s findings would heed no results; Brett would never return to either this school or his own to finish his education, and he would not spend his winnings generously, even though he was well enough off now--- it would attract too much attention and he knew it. He would never again be able to live a normal life, though his charm and intelligence would very likely get him far.
If Groban ever did find the bravery to tell Emma’s acquaintances, this would only hurt the mother and Emma’s friends even more, and there was no real point. While Brett would depart unpunished, that last, rational part of his mind would eventually take over, and Groban knew that he would either turn himself in or worse . . . end it. He would eventually get punished for what he had done, whether it be by physical, spiritual, or mental means.
Brett had marred his good name to Professor Groban, though many would continue to remember him as the winner of the Triwizard Tournament, Emma Collin’s boyfriend, and even worse, a hero.
But, Groban realised as he began to ascend back to the castle, What I had told Miss Collins was true.
That one piece of advice he had given her had turned out to be true, though Groban had not grasped when he had given it that it would ever need to be applied.
Don’t allow anything to stand in the way of what you want, whether it be gaining or losing a friend or winning this tournament.
Emma Collins had most definitely failed on her own part, but she would never again be allowed to have the chance to decipher it correctly. Brett had done it for her.
She is buried beside her father.
---
And yes, I know that you all utterly hate me now. I have an alternate ending in the works, and think I'm making an epilogue. These new writings may not be finished in time for the competition so they won’t count, so they'll be submitted as one shots. Thanks so very much to everyone who has read thus far, and I really appreciated all of the reviews I got on this story--- this story is very close to my heart and it has been nearly all I’ve thought about in the writing region in the month of July. Thanks to Fresca, my lovely beta. And to Kate, my best friend who allowed me to stay up until three in the morning at her house while I kept her awake with my incessant typing, for going over the chapters with me, and much, much more.