Chapter 1: Lost
When Hermione started drifting into consciousness, the first sense that came back to her was her hearing. She detected a rush of noise escalating to a crashing peak, then subsided before starting over. Parchment crumbling? No. Waves crashing. A harsh screeching sound—Hippogryffs? No, too high pitched. Whatever creature it was, the sound pierced her ears, which only served to trigger her other senses.
She inhaled deeply and the salty sea-air only fueled her throbbing headache. She tried to open her eyes, but the blazing sun rendered that impossible. Turning onto her side, she noted the scorching sand beneath her. When she attempted to sit up, she felt a sharp sting radiating from somewhere in the left side of her ribcage and realized that one of her ribs must be bruised or broken.
"What—in Merlin's name—is going on here?" Hermione murmured to herself, her throat achingly dry. As her vision adjusted to the brightness, she looked around the expansive beach, trying to recall what exactly had happened to her. She glanced downward and noted the state of her favorite work ensemble: white blouse, black knee-length skirt and matching blazer, all torn and bloodstained. Her black heels were partially buried in the sand several meters away. She reached into her skirt pocket—no wand. Of course.
Taking a deep breath, Hermione gritted her teeth as she managed to get to her feet, knowing she had to get out of the sun as she felt her exposed skin burning more by the minute. Leaving her shoes and blazer in the sand, she walked barefoot toward the shade and froze in her tracks—a thicket of trees that icily reminded her of the forests she'd spent so much time in during the horcrux hunt four years ago. Only these trees were tropical, and unlike before, she was now alone and unarmed. Images rushed back to her: Ron's splinched shoulder. Sleepless nights. Harry yelling. Near-starvation. Ron leaving. Worrying about her parents. Getting Snatched.
A crashing wave forced her out of her post-traumatic flashbacks. She summoned up Gryffindor courage and entered the greenery. Hermione made sure to watch where she was stepping; the ground was littered with broken sticks that could puncture her feet. Stepping on and snapping twigs could also attract predators, and Hermione had no idea what lurked in this forest. Her anxiety at an all-time high, she wished she'd wake up; surely this is a dream. As she examined the trees—the unfamiliar plant species—she tried to put the pieces together. The last thing she remembered was sitting at her desk, ordering Muggle take-out for Ron, and telling her secretary to go home early.
Ron. Her beloved husband would surely be wondering where she was. As an Auror quickly elevating to the top of the ranks, he would most definitely have the entire Order of the Phoenix searching frantically for her. Whatever had happened to her, she'd surely be found, wouldn't she? Yes, of course, she assured herself. Since Hermione accepted that she was stuck here for the time being, she figured that she may as well search for a bit of food and perhaps some fresh water to clean herself up with. After all, she wouldn't want to be filthy for her rescue party, which would definitely arrive any moment.
Hermione continued into the thicket of tropical foliage and spent so much time trying to remember what events had taken place after she'd ordered food for Ron. She was also looking for some sort of clue as to where she was, and she was so immersed in her questioning that she realized she had no idea how long she'd been wandering around in there. Twenty minutes? Two hours? Her stomach gave a groan and she realized it must be close to the latter. As she wandered around examining the leaves, wondering if any were edible or poisonous, she tried not to think about the fact that she left no trail—much like that Muggle fairytale about the two idiotic children who ate that woman's house ("That's rude of them," Six-year-old Hermione told her mum when she was told the story)—and she had no wand, no "Point me!" fall back charm.
Injured, starving, and now lost. Brilliant, Hermione. Her stomach growled again, and the denial of the situation slowly started to melt away. A sudden rush of frustration boiled up inside of her and she picked up a piece of bark, hurling it as far as she could as she yelled in frustration. "This can't be bloody happening!"
The throw caused the pain in her ribcage to surge and the pain forced her legs out from under her, landing on her knees in a pile of leaves. Fear ran icy hot through her veins then--what ifs hurdled through her head and clouded her sensibility. Rocking back and forth, she attempted to calm her own anxiety. "This can't be happening. It just can't be. It's all some cruel joke. I'm going to wake up any second—any second…"
A familiar voice replied and for a moment Hermione thought it was in her head. "It's not a joke, Hermione."
Hermione looked up with teary, panicky eyes and her jaw dropped at the sight of her old best friend and sister-in-law standing before her; she was decked out in her green and gold Holyhead Harpies uniform which, like Hermione's own clothing, looked ripped as though she'd been involved in some sort of altercation as well. Ginny's eye was blacked and her hair was tied back at the base of her neck.
"Ginny," Hermione rasped, shock sifting through her. So many questions. "What—how—where— Where are we? How did we get here? The last thing I remember is sitting in my office and then I wake up—"
"Calm down. You look like shite." Ginny dropped carelessly to her knees—which were already scabbing up—and her rough hand reached up, fingers trailing gently over Hermione's cheek.
Hermione suddenly couldn't breathe. It must have been the shock. After recovering, she winced as a stinging sensation shot through her as Ginny's calloused Quidditch fingertips grazed a half-healed wound. "That hurts!" Hermione swatted Ginny's arm and glared. "You don't look so wonderful yourself. Rogue bludger?"
Ginny snorted. "They must've hit you in the head. Don't you think a professional Quidditch player like myself could dodge bludgers in my sleep? I was bloody ambushed by Death Eaters. And by the looks of things, so were you. I Bat-Bogeyed three of them, but there were too many—they cornered me when I stayed for extra practice after our match yesterday. Bloody lot of cocksuckers they are." She reached into her cloak and pulled out a ripe banana, peeling it before handing it to Hermione.
"Gods, thank you. I'm starving." She took a bite of the banana and realized she'd soon need water. She struggled with swallowing the pasty fruit. "You were attacked? I don't remember being attacked."
"Well, you were. You probably hit your head, or they Obliviated you or something. I don't know. But it looks like we're stuck here. It's hot as a dragon's arse here on this bleeding abandoned and uncharted island. I've searched around the fucking place all day. There's a freshwater stream in the heart of the forest, bananas and coconuts. I ruddy hate coconuts. They take forever to crack open and they taste like arse. The bananas weren't easy to get. I had to climb a tree like a goddamn bowtruckle."
Hermione rolled her eyes; only a Weasley would complain about food at a time like this. "Well, we'll make the best of what we have. The Aurors will find us soon, I'm sure. You know Harry and Ron won't give up until they've saved us."
"That's just it, Hermione. They never will find us, and they'll never give up. That's what this new Death Eater uprising is all about. Torturing Harry in the worst way. Ron, too. They took locks of my hair—they have my wand. I'm sure they have yours too. They told me before they knocked me out that they're going to use Polyjuice Potion—make them think they've found us, plant leads all over. So Harry and Ron—the Aurors—they'll keep searching for months, years, and we know they won't give up, because this way—with the two of us stuck here, forever—"
Hermione's face fell and went ghostly pale as she suddenly understood the Death Eaters' master plan. "…they'll never find our bodies."