It was a freezing cold night. But Hermione hadn't worn too much. Bulky clothing was the last thing she needed when she was trying to keep quiet and out of sight. She'd gotten much better at it over the last few years but it still helped to keep herself as small and invisible as possible. She had gone for the clothes that were almost default to her now, her old worn-out black biker jacket, one of the many plain white t-shirts she had at home, black skinny jeans that were almost as used as her jacket and her sturdy lace up boots. She huffed a piece of hair out of her face again. It was always difficult to keep it under control, but it was vital when on one of her missions. It would not do, for her to be hiding behind a wall or door and be found out because her hair had decided it wanted to be free. It had always bothered her, as well that an enemy could reach out and grab it in the middle of a scuffle but she had not had any issues with that as of yet, and put off cutting it. She didn't quite know how to describe it if she were asked. It was not curly. To say it was curly was to suggest it had some kind of shape. It had innumerable kinks in it that gave it it's annoying volume and she supposed if she ever ended up getting it straight again, she'd gain half a foot in length.
Hermione felt the cold bite into her skin, exposed through the tears in her jeans, but refused to allow herself to shiver. She had to keep still and silent, it was a mercy the two Death Eater loyalists had kept the lights in the room off, otherwise she didn't think she would have been able to hide as well as she had in the large exposed drawing room. Thirty six different empty portraits on the walls 'How many portraits does one drawing room need?', seven potted plants, six side tables, three massive elaborately designed rugs, two Rococo armchairs, one large sofa in the same style as the armchairs and a pitifully blubbering new Ministry agent, William on his knees in front of a huge marble fireplace and two amused, sneering Death Eater loyalists. Looking back at the open window as a fresh gust of frigid air cut into her, she saw again the moon hidden behind slow moving grey clouds. She wagered she'd have six minutes before moonlight flooded the room, potentially exposing her. Hermione didn't like potentials.
"P-please..." she heard him sniffle. She rolled her eyes. Hermione pondered again, why she had been the one chosen to escort him on his first mission out of training. She'd been out of training for nearly five years now, and had never had to escort a new agent. She didn't like working with advanced agents, let alone nineteen year olds who it seems forget their training as soon as they leave the confines of the Ministry. She worked better by herself, other people got in her way and always got offended when she shot down their inept plans for infiltration or capture or anything of the sort. She would have scoffed at the cliché she recognised from Muggle buddy cop movies, if it wouldn't have given her away.
She supposed her sympathy and empathy had died away over the years of hard mission and even harder nights. Or maybe that was what she just preferred to think. The catalyst was that night in Malfoy Manor when she was eighteen, tortured by a madwoman. Harry had told her before that same madwoman had informed him the year before that you needed to feel the malice to preform the Cruciatus properly. Well she had certainly felt it that night, when Bellatrix Lestrange was adamant beyond all reason that her vault had been broken into. She had felt so powerless then, surrounded by people who hated her because of something she couldn't change. Her birth. She was sure Bellatrix would have enjoyed her torture if she hadn't been so unhinged. But another opinion of hers had changed that night. Hermione can still remember the look on the Malfoy's faces as they floated above her. Narcissa looked like she would throw up or faint at any moment, Lucius flinched and set his jaw hard every time he heard the spell connect and Draco... well she never saw his face. He kept his back turned to her as much as he could, in between his parents, facing the fireplace. His head hung, shoulders hunched with anxiety and both fists firmly clenched. He didn't move, not when his mother clutched to his arm for support, or his father clamped his hand down on his shoulder, in some kind of silent support he couldn't voice. She realized then that she, Harry and Ron were not the only people trapped in that house.
The sound of another loud sniffle brought her back to where she was. Peeking her eyes back over the couch, she saw the two Death Eater loyalists take their wands out. She readied her own, waiting for William to make a move of his own. He seemed to be frozen on the spot, just staring at the wands as if they had started singing. 'Come on!' she thought 'Do something, or they'll kill you, idiot!' She wasn't holding back out of complete heartlessness. He had to learn to do things on his own. It wasn't until one of them raised their wand and uttered the first syllable of the killing curse, Hermione let out and audible angry sigh and stunned them both before they had time to turn. She quickly caught and levitated them, so they wouldn't crash to the floor and lowered the two of them gently. She got to her feet, crossed her arms and looked down upon the new starter with a glare she hoped would light a fire under his ass.
"What the hell do you think you are doing?" she growled out at him.
"I-I... Oh my god... how long h-have you been there? Why didn't you do anything sooner?!" He screeched at her, his panic and fear getting her better of him. Her scowl at him deepend as a few sparks sputtered out of her wand, a danger sign she hoped he'd recognised.
"Why didn't you do anything sooner? Why did you just sit there like a pig ready for slaughter? Where's your wand? Where are your survival instincts?" she reprimanded, growing more and more frustrated and furious at how he continued to sit there, a sobbing mess. She noted with disgust that he had also wet himself.
"They were going to kill me!" He cried into his hands.
"Yes." She replied shortly. He looked up at her shocked and scared. "Yes they were. And they would have succeeded if you had been on your own. They would have killed you." She was walking slowly toward him now. "They would have burned your body, but probably not without defiling it first. They would have packed up their shit and moved to a different location. They would have taken the file with them and we would be down one more agent and important information because you couldn't handle your shit!" She grabbed his arm and dragged him to his feet. She knew she was being harsh, but that was life out here. Being harsh was necessary. Picking a pinch of her personal supply of Ministry Floo Powder out of her pocket, she threw it into the empty hearth. Lime green flames burst to life as she turned to levitate the stunned Death Eaters through the flames. This direct line would send them straight to a Ministry holding cell for them to await further questions. Standard procedure, of course. The flames went out once they were fully through. She turned to look upon nineteen year old William again. "Come on, we're leaving."
"B-but what about the file...?" He asked with trepidation, fearful of the answer. She didn't turn to look at him. "I have it safe."
"You have it?!" He asked in disbelief. "But what about all the guards and the wards an-"
She cut him off, viciously "I am able to preform my job." She snapped. "I'm recommending you for desk duty, you're not fit for this line of work."
"What?! You can't do that! No! My mother was so hap-" He had moved forward and grabbed her by the wrist. She yanked it out of his grip so quickly and with such ferocity he stumbled.
"You don't tell me what to do," she stuffed her hand into the small pouch hanging at her hip and pulled out a broomstick. "You're lucky I don't have you checking wands in and out of security for the rest of your days here, do you understand me?" She finished, letting her angry eyes bore into him as she pulled out a second. He lowered his eyes and she thought he might start crying again. As she held the second broomstick out to him, moonlight flooded through the window. She raised her eyes up to the ceiling, praying for patience. It would be far more difficult getting out of the estate now. The grounds were completely flat, with no tree cover and the moonlight seemed to be lighting it up as if it were the sun. The anti-apparition wards ended at the iron wrought gates ahead of them, but they had to get there first.
"Their friends will be along soon to figure out why they've been gone for so long, and to be honest with you William, I don't really feel like dealing with them right now. I want to go home, drink a lot of Firewhiskey and go to bed. Sound good to you?" She didn't wait for a reply, just straddled her broom and made ready to kick off while she waited for him to do the same. She whipped around as she heard heavy running footfalls coming towards the door. Waving her wand at the door she called "Colloportus!" A second later she heard bodies slamming into the closed door as she and William soared through the open window.
The familiar feeling of fear and dread came over her, as it always did whenever she was forced to fly. While she may have gotten slightly better at it over the years, she still was not a fan. Two jets of light passed close to her, and she swerved out of shock, nearly unseating herself. Still clutching to the broomstick for dear life, she shot a quick and shoddy shield charm behind her and William. They were nearly there, nearly over the barrier, just a little more.
Relief swept over her as she felt the slight vibration of passing through the ward. She descended far too quickly and crashed into the ground hard and heard a second thud behind her. William must have done the same thing. He was supposed to be a better flier than that. 'Idiot.' she thought, sucking back in the air that had been forced from her on impact. Adrenaline was coursing through her now, so whatever injuries she sustained, she didn't feel them just yet. William was lying facing away from her.
"William, we're still in danger. Get up." She spoke breathlessly. When he did not move, she grabbed his arm and tried to pull him up as she had a few minutes ago. She was surprised however when his weight was unyielding. He didn't speak. She firmly took hold of his shoulder and turned him to face her.
"William! What-" Her next few words were lost in her throat on the way to her mouth. Eyes looked up at her, but didn't see her. His jaw lay slack, his tongue fell to the back of his throat. There was mud covering the left side of his face, getting in his eye and mouth, but he didn't feel it. He was dead. Her heart paused for a beat then sped up again. She brushed the dirt from his face and tried to close his eyes and his mouth. They would not stay closed. He kept staring at her, grotesquely.
True to her word, she drank an awful lot of Firewhiskey that night, but sleep did not come easily.