A/N: 'Ello, everyone! Before we start, I just want to give out some fair warnings – first and foremost: I am not planning to primarily make this a Draco/Hermione romance. I guess that may change depending on how the story goes, but at this point it's very much about her search for Ron and Harry. That being said, they are thus far the major players in this particular story and I may end up pairing them together. But be warned – I'm planning for Ron/Hermione right now, though I can't guarantee a happy ending for them or even that they'll both make it through this story alive. And I'm not going to give away more than that.
A couple of other things: No slash. I may deviate from canon pairing, but that not far. The rating is for language and violence at this point.
Disclaimer: Not mine, nope!
Summary: AU. The Dark Lord has won and Harry Potter is missing, presumed to be dead. The few remaining members of the Order are scattered and desperate, unable to find hope in Voldemort's new regimes. On the run, Hermione fights to stay alive and reunite with Ron. Her biggest hope now lies in the mysterious help of an unseen ally and the recently redeemed Draco Malfoy. But nothing is at it seems – is Harry alive after all or is she fighting for something long gone?
She remembered fire.
She remembered in bits and pieces but that was what she remembered the most – unbearable heat circling them, all too willing to eat them up.
Smoke in her lungs and Voldemort's derisive laughter.
Stones underneath her feet as what remained of her friends stumbled back into the castle.
"Your hero is dead," the snake-man chanted, his red irises alight with joy. "I have killed the Boy Who Lived."
But that isn't right...she saw the body, brandished in front of her by a weeping Hagrid. His eyes were closed, his glasses askew on his face. She had seen this look on his face dozens of times, hundreds – when he fell asleep next to her in the common room, sandwiched between herself and Ron. When he drifted off during a Binns lecture, not even bothering to hide it. He wasn't gone. He was resting. She held the proof in her memory.
There was more fire after that, the cackling red flame threatening to eat the sky alive.
A flash of silver that told her that someone – probably McGonagall or Kinsgley – erected a shield between themselves and the army of Death Eaters. Strong arms pushed her on. Into the fleeting safety of the castle. But even in the temporary sanctuary of the Great Hall, the ground shook beneath her feet.
And Hermione knew Hogwarts would fall .
"They're inside," a voice next to her called out.
"Go," someone urged her. "Take this."
The fragment of a mirror was shoved into her hand.
"Go somewhere safe," she was told. "We'll be in touch."
Numbly, she nodded. But where was Ron? She could make out his form somewhere near her, surrounded by his family. She saw him reach out to her, his mouth forming her name without sound. He began to move toward her. His face was marred with fear, dried tears carving a path on the blood and dirt caking his entire body. And she could have done anything to stay with him, anything.
But Hermione did as she was told.
She left.
That was nearly five months ago.
Hermione hid among the brambles in the Forest of Dean. She knelt close to the ground, bundled in a thick sweater and a pair of woolen trousers, her satchel strapped safely to her chest. She gripped her wand in one hand, eyes diligently searching the clearing before her for signs of movement. On her feet were a pair of sturdy black boots, given to her by Fleur back at Shell Cottage. She stood slowly, wand held aloft. The thorns prickled her arms as she stood, leaving small white scratches. She winced slightly but did not otherwise move, still looking around the area.
Behind her was miles of tallgrass prarie, just outside the small forest.
"Careful, Granger," Draco whispered, next to her. He too was hidden among the sparse bushes, his eyes focused on the desolate scene in front of them. Like her, he wore a thick sweater and had a small satchel with him. His blonde hair was combed straight back, sharpening the bones of his face and further emphasizing the dark circles under his eyes.
Winter had come early this year.
She didn't answer him but gave a small nod, finally clearing aside the prickly bushes to step into the clear. The dry brown grass rustled under her feet and Draco stealthily followed her into the open. With practiced movements, Draco flicked his wand to set up the usual disillusionment spells several yards around them, sealing of the forest clearing to any intruder.
There wasn't much to the area: it was about thirty feet across of grass and weed in an unkempt circle, surrounded by some gnarled willow trees, branches dipping gloomily to the ground and roots splayed careless out of the ground. Above them, the sky spewed grey clouds.
"Specialis Revelio" Hermione muttered, waving her wand in a circular motion over her head. A thin beam of amber light shot out of her wand, twisting midair to create a path on the forest floor. Immediately, a set of footprints formed in the grass, leading out of the small glade and down a thin dirt road set close to their location. It ran past the clearing and heading for the middle of the forest, where the tall redwoods and pines grew. Past that, Hermione couldn't see – the prints continued forming and went into a denser area of the woods, where the trees grew so closely together it was nearly impossible to walk through.
"He was here, then," Draco commented, looking over the unattached prints. Hermione's spell had been used to reveal the tracks and possible spellwork of a wizard who had formerly been in the area – the magically formed footprints indicated the direction he or she would have walked in, given that it had been fairly recent. It was a tricky charm, since Hermione wasn't sure who she was tracking. She focused on revealing the presence of any magical being, the footprints being her reward.
"Yes," she breathed. The area was filled with the spark left by powerful magic. The very essence of it still filled the air, lifting the hairs on the back of her. "He was here. He used his wand."
"Are you sure?" Draco asked, looking apprehensive.
She paused, unsure. It almost seemed too easy. There could be Death Eaters waiting to ambush them. It could be a trap. Their defenses were strong – Hermione had long since perfected her shield spells and Draco was unusually adept at long-lasting disillusionment charms. But still. They were two and Voldemort's army grew in number by the hour.
They would not survive another direct attack, they both knew.
But Hermione could feel the traces of his magic, hanging in the air, clinging to every bit of sun and dust around them. The broad strokes of his wand, the phoenix feather magic that she had come to know so well.
It was him. She knew.
"Should we follow, then?" Draco asked, craning his neck to peer into the shaded woods just beyond them.
"No," she said, hesitating. "It'll be dark soon, we should stay here."
Draco nodded quickly and began rummaging through his satchel with apparent relief, pulling out a length of rough green canvas. He set it onto the middle of the clearing and stepped back, flicking his wand several times. On cue, the canvas began to swell and distort. It twisted into a shoddy green tent.
"Shall we?" He grinned weakly, pulling aside the thin entrance flap. They ducked inside together, both glancing over their shoulders as they went.
The sun would be setting soon.
The inside of the tent resembled a small one-room flat, complete with a tiny common area and a tinier kitchen. There were papers strewn everywhere, covering the small sofa and a circular coffee table. The walls and carpet were both a deep olive color and there was one round window, right by the entrance.
A radio blared softly from the floor. Newspapers covered every surface, headlines flashing boldly: Ministry of Magic Ushers in New Regime. All Muggleborns Dismissed from Hogwarts. Umbridge Gains Power in Restructured Ministry.
Death of the Chosen One.
That was the one she saw the most.
An involuntary shudder ran through Hermione as she recalled the days following the battle for Hogwarts – the panic and the bodies.
"Hermione?" Draco's voice was soft. "Are you alright?" He stood awkwardly by the couch, looking as though he didn't know what to say.
"Yes," she said, with a small smile. "Go on and rest, we'll pick up in the morning."
With another glance back, she headed toward her stacks of books. Tonight, she would once again be awake until dawn, tracing maps and leafing through ancient books. Like every other night, she would ponder and try to piece together the small hints.
Five months had passed this way – running and hiding, looking for footprints and signs from a person who very well may be dead.
Five months since she had seen, with her own eyes, his broken, lifeless body.
Five months and her search for Harry Potter had yet to come to an end.