"We need backup!"
Hermione whips around to see George barely duck in time from the blue flash of a stunner. He and Ron had paired up, to defend one another's backs but Ron became occupied with Dolohov.
Her heart pounds in her chest, and her hands shake, but there is nothing she can do but continue firing off hexes and curses, anything she can think of to delay the inevitable and hope for a miracle. Death Eaters swarm the grounds and she summons every bit of bravery she can before executing her plan.
"Protego maxima," she whispers,and makes a mad dash across the field to join George.
She dodges avadas and crucios that manage to slip through the shield, and she is almost there, so close so close so close-
but then the wind is knocked out of her as a large force bounds into her right and a purple flash hits her left. Her head knocks against the hardened mud and the panic begins to rise when black spots cloud her vision and her breath grows heavy.
No.
She dreams of the beginning of the end.
Hermione watches Harry fall, and she watches him rise again.
She remembers the roaring in her ears, the adrenaline pumping through her body, as Nagini slithers closer and closer to her and Ron before Neville slashes through it with the sword.
She remembers the utter defeat in the air surrounding her and the Order when Voldemort apparates away before Harry can kill him, before he can end what has been going on for too long.
As she dreams, the memories fly through her head, a mix of those she welcomed and those she'd rather forget.
Hermione realises, even in her catatonic state, that she doesn't know when the line between the good and the bad started to blur.
Hands stroke her cheek. Rough hands, calloused and large, but warm.
They send tingles up her arm, and she feels something stir deep in her core.
She then decides that it is time to wake up. Her eyes are stuck together, and it takes a couple of blinks to open them.
And as soon as she begins to sit up, those same hands hold her down.
"Don't move."
She looks up, frightened, as she'd expected Harry and Ron to be there, talking to her about how close of a call it was, but yes, Hermione, everyone is safe and sound.
Instead, she meets the bright blue eyes of Thorfinn Rowle. And if she wasn't awake before...
"What the hell?" She starts, looking frantically for her wand.
"Calm down, sweetheart, or you'll go back into another three day coma," he says, chuckling softly and leaning up against a wall.
"Three days!"
Hermione narrows her eyes, and scans the room. Time for a bit of improvisation.
Picking up the nearest lamp, she rounds on him.
"Well, aren't you going to summon your Dark Lord? Unfortunately for you, I don't think I can let that happen," she seethes, and Rowle actually laughs.
Prick. Stupid Death Eater prick.
She says so, and Rowle grins at her, straightening from his position at the wall, and stalks toward her.
She tightens her grip, and starts to swing, but before she can bash his face in, he grabs her wrist and the other, pulling her towards him.
Hermione squirms, kicking out and thrashing in every direction. "Let me go! I said, let me go right now!"
"I'm afraid I can't do that, sweetheart. Death Eater protocol says we don't release the highly sought-after Undesirable Number 2."
Stiffening, she slowly turns her head to look at him. He stares at her a bit, tilting his head and examining her face like he's never seen it before. And he probably hasn't. Hermione Granger doesn't make it a habit to be anywhere in the vicinity of a Death Eater.
That stupid grin tugs at his lip, once again, and Hermione growls.
"What in the world am I going to do with you, Hermione Granger?"
Turns out, he still hasn't figured it out.
Five hours after she woke up, and she's managed to crack a window open with a chair.
She spent the first hour berating him, thinking of every single convincing argument for why he should release her, and telling him how stupid he is for a good thirty minutes.
She spent the next four hours trying to find a way to escape. To no avail.
Leading them to where they are now. She is propped up against the wall, enveloped in a full body-binding curse.
Rowle is watching her, amused. He seems to like to do that.
She glares.
When I get out of these ropes and get a hold of a wand, it's over for him.
Hermione tilts her chin and assumes a face she hopes is scary. It usually works on Ron and Harry.
He just laughs.
A thump awakens her.
Rowle slides down the wall, a bottle of Firewhisky in his hands. He kicks off his heavy boots and sighs.
"What am I going to do?"
"You've asked that already."
His head snaps to the side, eyes widening. Clearly he hadn't seen her wake up.
He studies her for a while, the usual teasing smirk and gleam in his eye absent. He looks tired, she notices. Not that she cares.
"I'm stuck."
She raises her eyebrows. Go on.
"I'm on the wrong side of the war. I got myself into something that I can't get out of." He explains, and his broad shoulders slump, as if weighed down by heavy chains.
"I could help you." The words slip out of her mouth before she can stop and think about their implications.
Rowle smiles, a sad, half-hearted gesture, and shakes his head.
"No, sweetheart. I don't think you can."
Hermione feels the hope bubbling in her chest. Her heart starts to beat erratically.
"Yes I can! You can be an insider. Provide information to the Order."
His eyes search hers, trying to detect something.
"Please."
Yeah, so I really like these two together. I think I'll be writing them in the future.
Right now I'm just testing out their interactions, but I'm a little shabby with my storytelling skills.
Constructive criticism is welcomed.
-Sydney