Authors note: This is my first Harry Potter fanfic so I would really appreciate constructive criticism. Thank you to all who have decided to read this story, and I Hope you enjoy it.
Disclaimer? The original Harry Potter series does not belong to me, nor am I making money from this undertaking. This is a fan fiction website…shouldn't this be apparent?
The lovely cover image is property of Fused Elegance, and thus can be located at:
fusedelegance. deviantart. com/art/Time-of-the-Dragon-Steampunk-3-195034808
A great big thanks for her kindly letting me use it.
Chapter One:
Blanket of Fear
"The journey of a thousand mile begins with one step."
It is the nearly tangible hate swirling within the atmosphere that jolted the three-year-old Hermione from the confines of her dreams. Beneath her blanket, she lay motionless. Fear compressing her to the bed.
It was a dark fear, forbidding her from peaking past the knitted fabric of her comforter. Silence echoed across the walls and beneath her bed.
In her ears her blood pounded. The deep bump-bump only served to heighten her anxiety. The air stilled momentarily, broken seconds later by the gut-wrenching scream of a woman in agony.
A cry of fear burst forth from the child's lungs, a chorus to her mother's pain. She shot from her bed, panic dotting the edge of her vision in red.
Frantically, she wrenched her door open only to see a black haired monster at the bottom of the stairs standing over her limp and lifeless mother. The back of the creature resembled that of a human, but Hermione knew better.
Her eyes moved back to her mother. With wide eyes, she watched as her mother stared back. Her mothers eyes silently willing her to escape, to run far away.
Hermione's mouth dropped in horror as she watched the monster split her mother's stomach with the wave of the stick clasped within its narrow fingers. Her mother's screams reverberated off the walls, and pierced Hermione's ears.
Laughing hysterically, the monster slowly pulled her mother's organs from the confines of her body. Tugging repeatedly until the soft red flesh split in protest.
The scream reached a strenuous height, before dropping instantly to nothing. Only the hysterical laughing remained.
Her mothers jaw slack, frozen in horror. The monster, laughing impossibly, louder proceeded to shove the ripped bloody organs into her mother's mouth.
It was this new act of horror that spurred Hermione's survival instincts into action. She stumbled from her door, drunk with fear, alerting the monster of her presence.
It snapped its head to look at her. Its eyes nailing her to the spot. A cruel twist of the lips revealed teeth rot with decay.
A flash of red stole the monsters attention from Hermione. Released from the gaze, Hermione ran frantically to her open window. Her short three-year-old legs forcing her to jump to the mouth of the window, and in her panic she scrambled without proper control from the window. The slant of the roof forced her to roll rapidly to the bushes out cropping the house.
A startled cry of fear burned in Hermione's lungs. Intense pain enveloped her as her body met with the gnarled fern branches. She lay motionless for several seconds, tears clouding her brown eyes. The sky above her washed in smoky green. Blinking back the tears, she rolled from the bush her right arm throbbing painfully.
Her coordination an obstacle as she ran to the surrounding woods. She ran for mere minutes, her undeveloped lungs ragged with excretion. Her poor leg muscles pumping with fear.
Blinking back the tears, her vision blurred dangerously, approaching blindness. Surely, she would trip if she remains in such a state. Rubbing furiously at her eyes, she fought back the flood of tears.
Her tense and tired legs were easily pulled from beneath her as a stray tree root caught painfully around her right ankle. She plummeted to the ground a tangle or golden brown curls and flailing limbs.
Sobbing pitifully upon the forest floor, the child curled in upon herself for warmth as the first drops of rain landed upon her ashen skin.
That was how Arthur Weasley found her. Moments after the fighting, he had followed a Death Eater into the surrounding woods. He gave chase with the full intention of catching him, and bringing him in to join his follow Deatheaters in Azkaban.
"Immobulus," He shot, barely catching the Deatheater in the leg, but effectively immobilizing him. The Deatheater hit the ground with an audible thump, the piercing scream following his decent out of place and shocking.
Arthur's head snapped to the right of the immobilized body, his eyes locking upon the shaking body of a child.
Crawling slowly away she attempt to back away from the situation before her, a telltale since of her physically state of being.
Arthur approached her with nearly equally slow movements. His hands raised in the air, eyes consoling plains of green. Her panicked expression revealed his efforts to be fruitless in the face of her surmounting terror.
He attempted to speak to her, to assuage her fears, but her innocent brown eyes stared unseeingly upon him in horror. A few mere steps later and he wars crouched before her, arms extended toward her. His big hands wrapped around her sore middle. Her screams colored with intense emotion. As he began to lift her, she kicked and flailed wildly. After a few moments of desperate thrash her body simply gave in, gave up. The child now limp with in his arms, he cradled her protectively against his chest.
He turned toward the once other person in the small clearing muttering a quick "Incarcerous" he securely tied him.
Arthur followed this spell up with a Patronus charm. He quickly reported on the status and location of the Deatheater, and of the poor child within his arms. He stated that under the current circumstances, he felt it prudent to relocate the child to a safer environment, and thus this would be the reason for his momentary absence. He sent the Glowing weasel off with guidelines to report to his fellow order members.
With perfect concentration Arthur apparated to the only place he knew safe for a child, the burrow his home.
The deafening crack of apparition did not stir the child within his arms. There she lay quietly sobbing evening her sleep. Her brow knitted in discomfort.
He began his walk up the burrows cobbled stones, a heavy burned weighing down his shoulder. He looked the very image of a tired old man.
"Oh Arthur! Are you all right?" His wife called as she ran toward him. Her smooth girlish voice washing over his nerves in a wave of comfort, He lifted his head in her direction a warm expression already lifting his face—a subconscious reaction.
She stopped short moments before flinging herself upon him, which surely would have been a bone-crushing hug—one that only Molly could achieve. Her eyes drew to the shivering form in his arms.
"Oh…" she breathed her arms already reaching out for the poor dear. Effortlessly she cradled the tiny child to her chest, instinctively rocking the poor thing within her arms, a soothing hum upon her lips.
Arthur's lips twitched as his wife's natural mothering instincts took over.
"Oh Arthur what happen? No, you can tell me after I've taken care of her, and after you've sat down with a nice strong tea. You look like you could use it." Arthur nodded his agreement as he followed her into the house; blinking tiredly, he prepared himself for the rest of an already long night.
I apologize for any spelling errors or grammatical errors. If you find any that I have missed, please inform me of them so that I may correct them.