Hermione had been running for far too long.
The flesh-eating ward she'd placed behind her was beginning to fall, but she couldn't replace it. There was no time. Sprinting back down the street, Hermione shot several cutting curses blindly over her shoulder and lunged behind a post-box. Peeking around the edges, she saw a small flash of light as her ward finally collapsed under the strain of their spell work.
'Crap...' she murmured, beginning a second ward across the road, along the zebra crossing a few foot from where she'd run.
When she finally looked up she saw them; there were still three snatchers after her, hungrily running like spurred predators after her blood. Their black cloaks did little to hide them in the daylight, which lit the small alleys Hermione used to hide in, giving her away. They all looked manic and desperate... Hermione briefly wondered what the bounty over her head was. It must be a lot.
Hermione threw a blasting curse their way and ran, sprinting back down the road and lunging as a bone-breaking curse hit the ground beside her feet. The tar exploded, and she flew, everything slowing down around her as she fell behind a charred pick-up that had clearly been on fire at some point. She groaned in pain, rolling towards the truck's skeleton for cover. The thigh she had landed on ached and throbbed but she only had enough focus to cast a small, numbing charm.
She smiled when she heard the first scream - one of them must have run right into her ward and been ripped apart. Readjusting her grip on her wand, Hermione cursed as she stood up, her legs aching and her side sore. 'Two more to go...' She whispered, dashing to the pub behind her. Luckily, the door swung open for her, and she slammed it behind her.
'Where is she?'
'Fuck knows... Granger was just there, I swear!'
'Find her!'
Hermione sighed in relief. It was extremely fortunate that the door to the Stag and Crown had been unlocked, as the pub's empty interior proved that it had been abandoned for a while. She took cover behind a fallen pool table (the grassy felt torn and peeling), rolling the balls out onto the floor by the doors. One of the front windows had been blown wide open, giving her a useful vantage point of her bumbling pursuers.
Brushing her matting hair back, she swept some glass from the floor where she was and prepared. 'Blast, flash-bang, Sectumsempra... blast, flash-bang, Sectumsempra...'
Taking a final breath, Hermione jumped up from behind the pool table and vaulted over, ducking behind the window. A last shudder forcing its way down her spine, Hermione shouted out 'Come at me you fucking prats!' and ducked back down, firing flares and cutters into the air. Still bent down, she made her way to the back wall of the pub, and held her aim at the front door. The two remaining men burst in, unseeing, as she started her assault.
Blast. She threw a Reducto at the ground, firing up shrapnel of wood and pool balls at the two assailants. One groaned and fell down, the other cutting his hand on the broken glass of the window pane as he recovered from the blast.
Flash-bang. Hermione shielded her eyes and shot an overpowered grenade of light and sound that was sure to blind and deafen her opponents.
Sectumsempra. Hermione cut them down, using one of their own leader's spells. There was a splatter of blood on the door, where one body was now slumped up against it. The other snatcher had gone down a little away, his body lying in the hole in the ground her first curse had made.
The first snatcher groaned, giving away his status. Hermione hadn't managed to kill him with her dark magic... Seeing the dart board on the wall, she banished the darts in the direction of the door. There was a short gasp and several thunks, before Hermione peeked and saw the line of darts digging into the face of the snatcher that had almost lived.
All but collapsing out of fatigue, Hermione exhaled and chuckled, swearing 'Damn that was close...'
'Sir, someone's in there. There's dust and- Sir! I got blood!'
'Oh shit, shit shit!' Hermione ground out, pulling up once against the pool table and cursing her luck. Hiking up her jeans, she cocked her head to the side, trying to get a better view. She didn't have the energy to ward, and the voices sounded close. They were almost recognisable...
'Half-wits... Investigate then, and quickly. Report back later. The Dark Lord is calling.'
There was a faint pause, before- 'You heard Snape! Find out what 'appened to them snatchers! Go on!'
Snape. That prick. The Snatchers that'd been after her were dealt with, but now there were fledged Death Eaters after her. Hermione was really cutting it close now. How many frigging snatcher parties were there out there? Her heart was pumping, her ears still ringing from her previous fight, that hadn't even been over five minutes ago. She would bet her life that the blood was still warm.
Hermione could faintly hear the steps of the man outside, as he kicked a plank of wood out of the way, as his boot crunched on the broken glass. She couldn't even tell how many there were, she was so close to escaping. She tried to formulate a plan, but she couldn't think. All she could do was wait, as the remnants of the door was pushed open with a half-arsed creak.
She heard the detection spell. They definitely knew she was there now. Right in front of them. She didn't want to be caught. Suicide? She could do it, she still had her wand. Isn't that the cowards' way out? Hermione didn't think she had a choice. The spell played on her lips. 'Avarda Kedavra... Avarda-'
The guy by the door went down, wailing in pain. There were several more shouts, and the sound of running. In the opposite direction - she knew for the sound was quietening. Hermione peered over the varnished edge of her shield when suddenly a blast of fire smashed through the front of the pub, the remaining glass window shattering into sand as it scattered into the air.
Hermione waited. She wasn't stupid. Maybe they were drawing her out... did they even know she was there? She knew that she had to leave however, for the building was getting hotter. She crawled out from the pool table and trudged her way over debris, and out into the day.
And so was the life of Hermione Granger, Mudblood. That's all she was now. No worth, no relations, no humanity. Just a caste. In a perfect world- Hermione scoffed, and carried on down the alley. 'There's no such thing.' she thought tersely, ending her what if thoughts.
Lord Voldemort had won five years ago; the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter, had been captured, but was now missing. War had broken out, and the world had basically fenced Britain off, neither helping nor offering freedom. The Daily Prophet was now even more of a joke, as was the corrupted Ministry of Magic. New registration acts had come first, underlined by disappearances and sudden resignations of influential liberals. The good guys, basically.
The blood purists within the ranks of the ministry wanted to cull Muggleborns, and who better to start with than the best friend of muggle-lover Harry Potter? But they hadn't caught her yet. Though they'd definitely been trying. She wasn't just a mudblood, she was the mudblood.
Snatchers, bounty hunters, had her name at the top of their hit lists and Voldemort had promised a hefty sum for her capture, wanting to kill her himself. To use as an example, and to draw Harry Potter out from wherever he had gone. She personally didn't think Harry Potter would be so reckless as to come after her.
Her trick was to never settle. She never stayed in the same place for more than a few hours. Even as she slept, she would instinctively wake up and apparate to a new location, only to catch a few winks for a while longer. It was safer that way. But sometimes her strategy failed her - like today, she had practically jumped right into the middle of a snatcher tea party.
And look where it had gotten her.
Hermione was tired, growing wearier still as she trekked up the hill, tracing the edges of an office tower as she looked for somewhere to hide. She had everything she could ever need in her bag, which was slung hurriedly over her shoulder. Tinned fruits and pulses, worn clothes, books - lots of books had been lost over the years, and Hermione lamented each one. But she knew that she had all the books she would ever need in her possession. They kept her sane. Kept her alive.
Not that she wasn't ready to die, because she had made her peace with the thought.
Shaking her head miserably, she mulled over her readiness to off herself back in the Stag and Crown. Was it a cowardly way out? Probably. But did she want to give Voldemort the satisfaction of success? Definitely not. If she was already dead, he couldn't kill her, right? She didn't doubt for a second that regardless of who did the deed, her muddied corpse would be paraded about the streets of London. She knew it would be muddied up, too.
With a grin, and an allayed breath, Hermione jogged the last few metres towards the banged-up Arnage Bentley, which sat abandoned in the car park of a small supermarket. She'd almost forgotten where it was. Whipping her wand out, she pointed it at the car door and whispered 'Alohamora.'
The door of the burgundy car clicked open, and Hermione hurriedly got in, reclining over the backseats as she pulled the door deftly shut. Magic had to be used sparingly; it was harder for the enemy to trace her if she lived 'muggle' and she needed to save her strength as much as she could. Hermione couldn't afford to be tired when her life depended on it.
Leaning through the gap between the front seats, she flicked the CD player on and rocked her head to the sounds of blues as she fished cans from her bag; tuna and tinned peaches weren't a great combination but she couldn't really complain, she knew of people with less and so she was grateful.
Hermione stretched her legs out and let the tenseness out of her shoulders for a moment. It was rare that she would remain undisturbed for an entire evening, but now that her earlier kerfuffle was done with she could afford to loosen her laces a little. Stabbing a slice of peach with her fork and quickly shovelling it into her mouth, Hermione wondered how the Death Eaters were drawn away from her.
Who had caused that explosion? Hermione felt nervous about having to survive against yet another 'political' faction. It was odd, but Hermione didn't really think she had the time to waste being too concerned.
In the climate of the day, who really had the time to ponder over the past?
Listening to the chords reverberating inside the car, she remembered the resistance, the Order of the Phoenix, with nostalgia; there had been people with views not unlike hers, views agreeing with ideas of equality and liberty for all, be it pureblood, half-blood, muggleborn or even house elf. For the first two years after the 'disappearance' of Harry Potter, they had been strong.
Hermione herself had become part of the inner circle, but she was given a singular focus to mind - find Harry Potter. She hadn't been able to rest without thinking about him, her mission. Even now, as she put the empty can that once guarded her peaches in her rubbish bag, she was thinking of Harry Potter. Of how he was, where he could be.
She knew he was alive, regardless of all the signs everyone else had come to believe. If he was dead Voldemort would have hung his body from Buckingham Palace and declared a frigging bank holiday.
She had napped for a good two and a half hours before her eyes flew open, and she robotically packed away her stuff. Looking at the clock, she was agitated to know that it was evening. This was the hardest time for a mudblood. Snatchers were on full watch due to the darkness, and there was always the chance of a Death Eater waiting in the shadows. She'd been out once before, at this time, and she had run straight into the Dark Lord, Voldemort, himself.
Stepping out of the Arnage, she patted the roof affectionately before locking it magically and twisting, disappearing like vapour into the air of the night.
She landed a little more wobbly on her feet than she would have liked, but Hermione carried on. She steadied herself against a thrown-out wardrobe in the alleyway; it seemed like she spent all of her time in some alleyway or another, but it wasn't true. She had places.
Walking briskly, she found her door, concealed under layers of sophisticated charm-work and unlocked it. She didn't just have a simple disillusion charm; on her doors she always put flesh-eaters, gutting curses and spine-breakers, not to mention the detection spells and the alert wards that would warn her when anyone was nearby. She'd also put a linked tripping jinx right in front of the opening just for the hell of it, which she quickly disabled and re-established as she made her way into the building.
Climbing up the metal stairs, her dragon-hide boots clanged against each step. She was tempted to take them off for the sake of stealth, but she was already inside. Hermione didn't even feel like silencing her movement with magic. She could let her guard down once, surely.
Biggest mistake of her life.
Humming as she made her way up the stairs, she didn't notice the figure standing behind her. It was already too late when she felt their hand clasp over her mouth, stifling her shouts as she dropped her wand. There was little she could do as she was dragged back down the steps she had come, as she was being snatched from the building like the many muggle-born before her. She couldn't help but think of who she'd let down, as she was pulled against her will by this brute of a figure that she still couldn't see.
Hermione Granger thought she was done. Shaking and resisting as much as she could, she tried to pull out of the strong grip this pursuer had. He just lifted her off the ground entirely. In the struggle, her mouth came free enough for her to yell 'Bombarda!' - focusing on the ground beneath them.
Not many people knew she could actually cast wand-less. Harry Potter was one. Professor McGonagall, Tonks, Lupin... They were the people she assumed were still alive. Maybe she was joining the ones who weren't - Hermione didn't have the time to calculate any predictions.
The attacker must've been surprised by her power, for his grip on her went slack and she managed to break away as the floor underneath them finally crumbled, weakened by her spell. This other bastard wasn't so lucky. In an effort to stay upright, he'd leapt over the railing - he was now weakly hanging over a drop worth several flights.
'Help me...'
Hermione finally got a fair look at him. He was no child, but the begging look he gave her made him look innocent. He seemed like the kind of guy that would look more peaceful in death than he'd ever been in life anyway.
'Who the fuck are you to ask for help? You tried to kill me!'
'I'm sorry!' The man yelled, taking a look down. 'Please!' He begged, his legs swinging in the air.
'Do you know who I am?'
'No...'
'I'm a muggle-born witch. Remember that in the afterlife, asshole.'
Raising her wand, Hermione gave it a casual flick, also casting a silencer as the man screamed to his death. Sometimes to survive, one had to be cold. Tiredly trudging back up the staircase and massaging the tightness in her neck where she'd been collared, Hermione wondered whether he had been coerced by Death Eaters to reluctantly join in the chase, if he had a family, if he knew where Harry Potter was...
When she got to her floor, Hermione was about ready to faint from exhaustion. She hiked up her sleeve to get better access to her silver charm bracelet; a seven-year-old gift from Harry Potter, she'd kept it on her person through everything. There were a few decoy charms (the little stag, a book and a chess knight to name but a few) along the delicate metal links but the real ones were all the same - numbered keys. Being organised like she was, Hermione had all of the keys to all of her safe-houses literally on hand, numbered according to the order in which they were established.
She fumbled to find the right key as she went to her apartment, before shoving 'number thirteen' into her door. She twisted, and pushed the jarred door open enough for her to quickly slither through and bolt it shut behind her.
The building had obviously become compromised, and she'd have to clear out soon. But how had he gotten in? She was sure the place had been locked up tight. Hermione struggled to find a flaw in her warding as she took her shoes off, unhooked her bra and slumped onto the couch.
The apartment was much larger than she needed; the front door led into a living room, with a kitchen to the right and a single bedroom to the left. The bed was too far away for her to be bothered to walk to, so Hermione had just collapsed onto the leather sofa she'd conjured a while back. The walls were painted a dark grey, the only detail being the square window facing down onto the street. She had a good view of the main road, but now Hermione would have to find somewhere else to watch the streets from. There was a quaint plaza outside, built around a massive sculpture of a young man pulling a little girl up off the ground.
It spoke volumes to Hermione - she was the girl, and the compatriots sympathetic to her cause acted as her support, giving her the power to go on. Hermione felt, as she tried going back to sleep in the place for one last time, that she could keep going on.
Though she was ready to abandon the flat, she couldn't abandon the magical world, or Harry Potter. She still had a job to do, and she could not afford to die yet.
Hermione shifted into a more comfortable position and pulled over a pillow to hug as she swore to herself never to give in. The tussle in the stairway was too close; it was time to get real.