“Izzy, oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Harry said.
“It’s fine, Harry,” I said. “It’ll only make Hermione want to torture me more.”
“Why are you talking about me?”
“Son of a-” I roared. “I mean - *cough cough* - uh, hi. We weren’t talking about you. You look beautiful today. Did you know that?”
“Stop trying to distract me,” Hermione growled. “I heard you talking about me, and I want to know why.”
“Er…”
I had nothing left to say. I was petrified.
When Hermione comes into a group of people without warning, you know that one of them is in trouble. And these days, it’s pretty much always me.
“Riddle.”
“Yes?”
“Get on the floor.”
“I-”
“I said get on the floor.”
“No,” I said, sounding braver than I felt. “I won’t.”
Hermione glared at me.
“You want to play, do you, Riddle?” she sneered, taking out her wand.
But as I was just about to take out mine, someone grabbed me from behind, pinning my arms behind my back.
"She said," came a familiar voice from behind me, "get on the floor!"
I was thrown roughly into the wall in Rose's room, hitting my head.
I could feel the hot liquid sliding down my cheek onto the floor.
"Please..." I said, struggling to stay conscious. "...I'm sorry...please, Hermione...why are you doing this...."
My eyes were getting heavy, the world around me starting to spin.
"I'm getting back at your mother for torturing me, and killing Dobby, Sirius, and Fred," she replied, putting her wand in her robes, realizing I was too weak to fight her.
"And the only way I can do that now is to hurt you."
"Hermione...please..."
My eyes were closing, my breathing getting shallower.
"...please...."
And then all went blank, and not even pain could follow me.