Another Harry Potter fic, this time a multi-chapter! I've been obsessing over the fandom lately, so I figured that I may as well indulge. I have the epilogue written out and am currently about half way through the second chapter.
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns everyone but Moira Lowe.
Chapter One: The World Cup
Confusing, scary things happen sometimes. It's a fact of life. Just last year every fact that Hermione knew about Sirius Black was turned on its head, on top of having a werewolf as a professor. He was a great teacher and one of the least scary people she had ever known, but that's far from the point.
The real point was that sometimes being terrified is inevitable. Or at least that was what Hermione tried to tell herself every night after she woke up from the exact same nightmare.
Taking a look over at Ginny sleeping peacefully, she sighed with relief. The aftershocks of the pure fear that ran through her decreased, knowing that she hadn't woken her friend.
Deep, evenly spaced breaths decreased the shakes that Hermione was feeling until her hands only slightly trembled. When she closed her eyes again, trying to gain a moment of peace, the nightmare flashed in front of her eyes.
A glowing trophy cup. A cemetery. Harry. A man holding a baby."Kill the spare." The killing curse and a whirlwind spiral into darkness.
It was a terrible, horrible nightmare that Hermione hated to admit she didn't understand. How did that grave yard end up in her mind? She had never seen it in her life. Who was the boy? He was another completely unknown factor. Probably the biggest question of the lot had to be why she was dreaming the death of a boy she didn't even know, who may not even exist.
After two weeks of the exact same scenario playing out as she slept, the boy's features were imprinted into her mind. If it weren't for the fear and eventual stillness in his expressions, Hermione could easily describe him as handsome, with tousled auburn hair and keen grey eyes. Although his features held hints of aristocracy, there was a certain youthful shine to him even in that awful situation.
Hermione sighed and shook her head, pushing the dream away. This wasn't the day for it, if there ever would be one. Today was to have fun, to be a regular teenager, to go to her first professional Quidditch game. The Quidditch World Cup.
Although she wasn't a complete nut for the game like Harry and Ron were, that wasn't to say she didn't enjoy it. It was just the flying part of things that bothered her. How anyone felt safe a hundred or more feet in the air with just a piece of wood holding them up was beyond her.
It wasn't even sunrise when Mrs. Weasley came in to get the girls up. "Best get ready before the boys," the red headed matron insisted, "You know it'll be chaos then."
Ginny was only half awake as she practically crawled out of bed, cursing as she hit her head on the wall somehow. "What time is it?" she grumbled, rubbing her head.
"Four," Hermione responded once she checked her watch. Although she was dead tired from that nightmare, she was wide awake.
In silence (Ginny's muttered profanities not withstanding) they cobbled together outfits and raided the bathrooms. Once in the shower, Hermione's worries seemed to fade away as they always did. There was nothing like steaming hot water to cure any woe.
The rest of the morning between then and leaving the house was sleepy, disorganized chaos. Percy, Charlie and Bill would be joining them later since those lucky buggers could apparate, leaving the younger siblings, Mr. Weasley, Harry and Hermione to trudge to the hill. The walk was made mainly in silence.
As she wandered after the others, Hermione gazed around at her surroundings dazedly. Even though she had just woken up, she felt so tired... It was like third year all over again, but without the benefits of extra classes.
"Everybody look around for the portkey!" Mr. Weasley called unexpectedly, jogging her out of Sleep Deprivation Land, "It won't be very big!"
Not knowing what she was supposed to be looking for was frustrating to Hermione. Still, she scanned the ground for anything out of the usual. Grass, grass, rabbit hole...
"I found it, Arthur!" called an unknown voice from the other side of the hill.
A man trudged up to the crown of the hill holding an old, mangled boot with a grin. He was fairly short and rather unimpressive, aside of having a knack for dressing up as a muggle.
Mr. Weasley obviously knew him, as he eagerly traversed the rest of the way up the large hill to clap him on the back. "Amos, how are you!" the red haired man greeted him, before introducing his children both natural and adopted.
"Amos Diggory," the man introduced himself, mainly speaking to Harry, "And this is- oh, where did he go..." He searched for his missing companion for a few seconds before calling, "Cedric!"
Right about then a boy jumped out of the tree into the midst of their little gathering, and Hermione's breath caught in her throat. She almost felt herself pale and stuck her hands in her pockets to prevent them from visibly shaking. It was him.
"This is my son, Cedric," Mr. Diggory introduced the newcomer, before adding, "Although you probably already know him from school. Beat you badly at Quidditch last year!" He laughed as he slapped his son on the back.
"Dad, it was only because Harry fell off his broom..." Cedric protested.
The conversation slid in one ear and out the other for Hermione. Her mind was racing too much to process exactly what was going on, except that the boy from her nightmares was real.
"Hermione?" whispered Ginny, "You're alright?" The younger girl was frowning concernedly, glancing between Hermione and Cedric. Obviously, she was confused.
"Yes," Hermione lied, shaking herself out of her stupor, "Just dozed off on my feet." She even pasted a smile on to make it seem more realistic. No, she was about as far from okay as humanly possible.
Although Ginny examined her for a few extra seconds, she nodded. Then a wicked Fred-and-George grin came, before she asked in a low voice, "He is rather dishy, isn't he?"
Another look in Cedric's direction sealed the opinion Hermione had kept for weeks. "Make that completely gorgeous," she returned, seeing the grin the older boy had on. When he looked directly at her however, she couldn't help but blush and look down to fiddle with the strap of her bag.
'This is so backwards!' she moaned mentally, following Ginny on autopilot, 'I've already seen him die fourteen times, so why is this happening...!' Even with half of her brain still on a similar tangent, she managed to follow instructions and put a finger on the boot.
The jerking feeling at her navel startled Hermione into forgetting all about her prior dilemma. Her feet were lifted from the ground and suddenly the boot and everyone touching it were hurled away, their fingers glued to the portkey. On one side Ginny rammed into her, and on the other side Harry's elbow caught her in the ribs several times. To say the least, there would be bruises.
When with watering eyes she looked up from the boot, Hermione's breath was caught in her throat. He was staring right at her.
Almost as soon as she noticed, she was thrown from the portkey. There wasn't even time to scream before Hermione hit the ground in the middle of the pile of teens. "Oomph!" she grunted when Harry landed partially on top of her.
"As much as I like you there, can you get off me?" requested one of the twins from beneath her. His voice was slightly strained, and he seemed to have trouble breathing.
Realizing that she had landed straddling whichever twin it was, Hermione turned red. "If Harry will get off of me!" she hissed, embarrassed. She arched her back, hoping to get Harry to slide off of her.
"Please stop moving," the twin beneath Hermione groaned, glaring at the sky.
"You said to get off," Hermione snapped, "Make up your mind!" Almost as soon as she spoke, Harry managed to roll off of her.
A hand entered Hermione's line of sight and she grabbed it to haul herself up. While she loved the Weasley twins, that was a little too up close and personal for her tastes. What she didn't expect was to be pulled into a strong, unfamiliar chest.
It was Cedric, the boy whose death she had seen over and over in her nightmares. There was a pleasant half smile on his face and his grey eyes were intense as they stared down into hers. It was all so strange that he was there, warm and breathing.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
Unable to make her voice box function at the moment, Hermione simply nodded. While she had landed hard, at least she'd had a human landing pad.
"Is everyone alright?" Mr. Weasley's voice broke her out of her stupor. Hermione released Cedric's hand like it burned her and stepped away promptly, cheeks tinged pink. What was it with boys today?
Ginny gave her a searching look, an then a devious grin. This obviously wouldn't be forgotten when they were alone.
The muggle campsite coordinator directed them to their lots, in the same general direction but a wide distance apart from each other. The whole walk until the Diggorys split away from the Weasleys, Hermione was ultra aware of Cedric's movements as he walked beside her. His arms casually swinging, the steady sway of his long torso, his gaze wandering about, nothing managed to escape the attention that she really didn't want to pay him. It was simply instinct.
When it finally came time to part ways, it came as a relief. But at the same time, Hermione couldn't help glancing back at him, making sure that he was real.
The thing that got her to stop is that he kept looking back too. And he was smiling.
Once the Diggorys were out of sight, Ron rounded on her. "What was that about?" he demanded, scowling.
"What was what about?" Hermione returned, frowning.
"You and Diggory," Ron answered indignantly, "You looked like you were ready to eat each others faces!"
Despite knowing exactly what he meant, Hermione scowled and hissed, "Why does everything have to do with eating to you?"
The diversionary tactic worked; they argued about Ron's choices in insults the whole way to their camp site. Cedric Diggory wasn't mentioned again.
Mr. Weasley's excitement about putting the tent up the muggle way was infectious, and Hermione found herself smiling even as she explained the mallet to him. It took a while, but the tent was up by seven o'clock.
The inside of the tent was different than Hermione had expected. It smelled heavily of cats, she noticed immediately, although other than that it was quite pleasant if a bit shabby. There were five doors she noticed, two to each side and one at the far back beside the kitchenette.
"Bedrooms are off to the sides!" Mr. Weasley announced, "And the bathroom is to the back. Pick your bunks, everybody!"
As soon as Mr. Weasley had finished speaking, Ginny was dragging Hermione into the room beside the bathroom. "What was that with you and Diggory?" asked Ginny once the door was closed, "You had this weird look like you were scared to death." Obviously, she was far more perceptive than Ron.
"I was just shocked," Hermione shrugged, downplaying it while still telling the truth, "I had a strange dream with him in it and didn't know he was real until I saw him." She dumped her small bag onto the bottom bunk carelessly.
"That is weird," Ginny agreed, tossing her things onto the top bunk, "So you're dreaming about him already? I don't blame you, he's one beautiful man." With a wink and a conspiring comment, any tension was broken.
From then on, everything was perfectly normal almost. Only occasional flashes of Cedric interrupted Hermione's time with her friends as they fetched water, bought trinkets and finally went up to the top box.
Only when the Irish team sped onto the field did anything very interesting happen. "Troy, Mullet, Moran, Quigley, Lowe, Ryan and LYNCH!" Ludo announced, shouting the players names enthusiastically.
"Lowe?" Ron called, obviously disgruntled, "Who the bloody hell-"
"David Connolly is currently recuperating in Saint Mungo's after his appendix burst, so please welcome reserve beater Moira Lowe to the team!" Ludo shouted as the screen zoomed in on the only woman on the team, "The oldest professional Quidditch player at forty-one years and the hardest hitting Beater in the league, this is her second spectated match!"
Beside Hermione, Harry's jaw dropped. "Forty-one?" he asked no one in particular.
A look through her omnioculars showed what Harry meant. The only woman on the Irish team didn't look a day over twenty-five, with nary a wrinkle or grey hair in sight. She had pale, aristocratic features with deep set grey eyes and a determined tilt to her mouth. Her hair, long and raven black, flew in an arc around her head from her ponytail every time that she made a turn.
It was unfair that a woman could seemingly stay frozen in time. 'She must use a great amount of glamor charms,' Hermione decided, although she couldn't see the tell tale shimmer.
"There's no way she can hit harder than the Brazilian beaters," Ron denied, shooting Ludo a look over his shoulder.
As soon as the match began, it was obvious that Lowe did indeed hit hard. By the time Lynch plowed into the ground the first time, she had managed to break the Bulgarian Chaser Ivanova's arm and the Keeper's broom handle. She was ruthless.
It was no wonder that the Bulgarians got agitated quickly. After the Chasers, she became the most often fouled player on the Irish team. Nothing seemed to phase her however, right until she took a Bludger to the back at point blank range.
Hermione couldn't help flinching when the event was replayed on the large screen. Lowe had only been twenty feet away when Volkov aimed the Bludger at her, obviously using his full strength. When it impacted, her face was knocked into her broom handle and only her legs tightening around her broom kept her from falling off.
It was the look on her face that made Hermione really pity her though. She was obviously unable to breathe, her eyes wide and a hand clutching at her chest desperately. Slowly, her lips started to turn purple as saliva dripped from her trembling mouth.
At the same time, Krum dove again. All attention was drawn from the suffocating Beater to the two Seekers speeding toward the ground.
"He's feinting again!"
"Lynch is going to crash!"
Only one of the predictions was right, although Hermione didn't see which. Her eyes were still fixed with horror on the drifting Beater, who she saw through her omnioculars was slowly slipping out of consciousness.
"Krum caught the snitch but Ireland wins! Who would have thought!" Ludo announced jovially, before he shouted, "Someone save Lowe! She's falling!"
Her grip on her broom had faltered and she was in a free fall straight to the bottom of the stadium. One after another, players tried to catch her but missed or their grip slipped. Even the Bulgarians came to the rescue.
Krum dove at breakneck speed. This time his aim wasn't the snitch, which was still struggling in his hand, but the falling Beater.
"Come on, come on..." Harry muttered, pressing his omnioculars hard into his face.
Hermione's hands were trembling around her own pair as she watched. If Lowe hit the ground from where she had been hovering about three hundred feet up, death would be instant. As the ground came into sight, the young witch hid her eyes.
"Krum!" Ron howled in celebration. Everyone was cheering like mad, even Percy.
Warily, Hermione peeked. What she saw made her sigh in relief; instead of being a wet, dead mess, Lowe had been caught by none other than the Seeker of the opposing team. The relief made Hermione feel giddy, and she began cheering along with everyone else.
"And Krum has done it again!" Ludo announced gleefully, "Using his signature Wronski Feint in defense of the opposing Beater, what a catch!"
The large screen on the middle of the field showed Krum adjusting Lowe to lean against his chest while he carefully angled his broom toward the ground. Even with the woman's age known, they looked very good together, Hermione thought. Perhaps this would make it into the Bulgarian adverts.
When Hermione turned her omnioculars a little further down the field, she immediately spotted a woman's long, distinctive burgundy hair. From the way she got working on Lowe when Krum put her down, she was a Mediwitch. But why was she the only one out there now when with Lynch, there had been two or three fussing over him?
Hermione's wondering was cut short by Ludo. "And now a congratulations from the defeated Bulgarian team!" he called, to a multitude of cheers.
With a glow, the roof of the top box disappeared. When Hermione uncovered her eyes, she saw that the box was now on the large screen. Without any thought to it she pinked, biting her lip.
One by one, the Bulgarian players passed through the top box. They shook hands with their own minister before Britain's, occasionally giving a glance over the spectators in the box. Last came Viktor Krum, blood still freely flowing from his nose.
On the ground he wasn't nearly as impressive as in the air, round shouldered and duck footed. In his own way he was still impressive however, made to fly. He was one of those that scanned the box seats, but unlike his team mates, his gaze lingered.
Specifically, Krum took a long moment to look directly at Hermione before he finally exited the box after his team mates. It made her heart jump into her throat. It wasn't exactly a common thing for her to get male attention, aside of when they asked for homework help.
"And now the winners of the 1994 Quidditch World Cup, the Irish team!" Ludo announced grandly.
The players filed in and shook hands with both ministers, with Lynch being supported by Moran and Quigley. Last inside was Lowe, who rode in on Ryan's back. Like Lynch, her eyes were unfocused and she was dazed, but she grinned widely against Ryan's neck.
There was a deafening roar from the stadium as the cup was handed to Lynch. Harry was too busy staring at Lowe to notice until the last minute.
What was going on today?
Late in the night, Hermione had to take a breather from the tent. While she loved Quidditch, there were only so many times she could listen to replays of Krum's feint or Lowe's fall. Besides, it was a nice night out.
As she sat on a log out front, Hermione thought back to what Harry had said earlier. For some reason, Lowe reminded him of someone but he couldn't remember who. In that instance at least, she had no idea who it could be; the glamor charms had managed to stick the whole time.
The possibility had come to her that those were her real features, but the thought was dismissed almost instantly. There was no way a woman could look half her age without glamor charms or plastic surgery.
Only when Cedric's voice greeted her did Hermione pull out of her thoughts. "Hey Granger," he had said with a crooked grin, standing across the fire from her.
"Diggory," she returned with a small smile. Hopefully the fire light disguised the light blush that crept over her cheeks.
Just his presence inspired it, but the fire light made Cedric look irresistible. The way the glow warmed his skin and made shadows flicker about his face was mesmerizing, all while his eyes sparkled. It was unfair how drop-dead gorgeous he was, no pun intended.
The memory of her dreams made Hermione's smile falter. If this boy was real after all, what about the rest of the dream...? She forced her thoughts aside when she saw him open his mouth.
"That was some match, wasn't it?" Cedric asked softly, hands casually in his pockets, "Especially the last ten minutes."
Hermione nodded, remembering easily. "I was honestly terrified for Lowe," she admitted, "It's a miracle her back wasn't broken." Having Harry for a friend guaranteed that she knew many ways to get injured or killed.
"Lucky witch," he mused, almost to himself, "That definitely hurt and knocked the breath out of her, but I don't understand why she fainted." He frowned down at the fire pit, obviously trying to figure it out.
"I remember one time that I was playing King of the Hill," Hermione thought out loud, a small smile on her face at the fond memory, "It was one of the few times I've ever played with other kids, and I was having so much fun. I was standing on the log on top of the hill when it started rolling."
Cedric looked genuinely interested, head cocked to the side. "Go on," he urged, the corner of his lips tilted up.
"Well I hadn't expected that, so I fell," Hermione sighed and shook her head, though her smile slid off slowly, "A rock dug into my back right between my shoulders and it was like someone had cut off all control of my lungs because I couldn't breathe, no matter how hard I tried. It was probably about three minutes before I started again, but it hurt for the rest of the day. One of the scariest moments of my life before I came to Hogwarts."
Feeling rather stupid and self-absorbed, she ended the story shortly. Somewhere in the middle of her story, Hermione had managed to forget exactly why she was telling him this. It felt natural.
"The Bludger hit her right between the shoulders," Cedric provided, his eyebrows raising slightly at the conclusion, "Definitely harder than that rock got you."
"So it probably... I guess paralyzed her lungs...? longer," Hermione finished, "And no matter how we say it, she's lucky to be here." She gave him a small smile, grateful for his perceptiveness.
There was a strange look in Cedric's eyes as he gazed at her. "Walk with me?" he asked, tilting his head toward the other tents.
Surprised, she searched his features. "I'll... let Mr. Weasley know," Hermione answered awkwardly upon deciding that he was being honest, "Just us?" When she saw him nod, she stuck her head into the tent and called, "I'm going on a walk. I'll be back soon."
Mr. Weasley nodded, telling her, "Be careful, don't wander far." Everyone else didn't seem to hear her and kept at whatever they were doing.
That duty done, Hermione wiped the imaginary dust from the back of her thighs and nodded. "Where to?" she asked softly, circling the fire to stand in front of Cedric.
He shrugged, the natural flush on his cheeks darkening slightly. "I didn't think quite that far," he admitted sheepishly, "Maybe around the campsite?"
"Alright," Hermione agreed, after giving him a strange look. The day kept getting weirder and weirder...
The parties were winding down, so their walk was mainly unimpeded as they traversed the camp ground in silence. A few times they were given strange looks and at one point a drunk party goer tried to paw up Hermione, but he was shoved away quickly.
After about ten minutes they ran into Oliver Wood, but thankfully he was too tired and tipsy to be his normal fanatic self. "No defilin' mah wee sparrow, Diggory," he teased, ruffling Hermione's hair. His stance was a little unsteady and his accent was a little thicker than usual, but at least he wasn't completely sodding drunk.
Cedric and Hermione shared a confused look. "I won't?" the Hufflepuff offered unsurely.
Seemingly satisfied, Oliver dropped a kiss on Hermione's forehead before he ambled off. Right up until he was out of sight, he kept looking over his shoulder and mouthing something at them.
Hermione smiled and waved, trying to not laugh. Once he was out of sight though, she let loose until she was clutching a stitch in her side. "I can't believe it!" she giggled, trying to be quiet about it and failing, "It's true!"
Cocking his head to the side, Cedric appeared lost. "What...?" he asked, looking from where Oliver disappeared to Hermione and back.
"There was a rumor last year about Oliver getting possessive when he drinks," Hermione explained, slowly straightening up, "It seems like it's true." Her cheeks hurt from smiling so much.
At that, Cedric let out a snort. "Even without alcohol, he's possessive," he told her drolly, "Have you ever seen the glare he gives anyone else who books the school pitch?"
Still feeling a little giddy, Hermione let out another giggle. "Not to mention during the game," she added, smirking, "It's like he's having a long-term love affair with the quaffle!"
That was when Hermione felt arms wrap around her and a chin rest on her shoulder. "Hermione... yeh should come to bed," whined one Oliver Wood, who had somehow sneaked up on them. He pulled her against his chest tightly.
It only took that one sentence for Hermione to turn the color of Ron's hair. "Um, uh..." she stuttered, her humor gone instantly, "W-why don't you go to bed alone tonight?" She cast a pleading look at Cedric, wondering how she would get out of this one without Oliver getting hurt.
The Hufflepuff didn't look amused in the least. "You're drunk Wood," he told the older boy flatly, "I think you should go to bed alone tonight."
"No' withou' mah Hermione," Oliver replied in an almost sing-song voice, "And yeh're no' allowed to join us!"
They were spared the need for a very awkward reply by a blasting sound. It echoed from near the Weasleys' tent, to Hermione's horror. "What's going on?" she questioned, stiff in Oliver's arms as more bangs and blasts followed.
"It doesn't sound good," Cedric replied grimly, eyes drawn toward the noises, "We should get away."
"But the Weasleys-" Hermione protested, trying to move out of Oliver's arms. They tightened around her, leaving her struggling.
"They'll be fine," the Gryffindor Quidditch captain told her surely. He started to draw her away from the disturbance, her attempts at wriggling away seeming like nothing to him.
Screams began right then, and four bodies ascended into the air. Mr. Roberts, the muggle campsite manager, was easily recognizable and the other three seemed to be his family, a woman and two children. People were starting to scurry out of tents and away from the blasting, panicking and screaming.
Now Hermione could easily see the cause of the explosions and panic, people dressed in ominous hoods and skull masks. They moved in a large group, blasting apart tents and throwing spells at those running away while laughing madly.
Hermione was rooted to the spot in horror. Those masks, she had read about them... Death Eaters, the followers of Voldemort. 'But Voldemort is dead!' she mentally screamed, unable to tear her eyes from the sight that should have been impossible.
"Move!" Cedric roared, grabbing her hand. He hauled her and Oliver a short way to the left, before realizing that more cloaked figures were coming from that way.
A look to the right revealed the same thing. Obviously having reached the same conclusion, Oliver and Cedric pulled her by the hands to the only possible way out that they saw: straight ahead. Despite having much shorter legs than the boys, fear gave Hermione the wings to keep up with them; there was no way she would allow herself to be caught. It would be certain humiliation, if not death.
A bandy legged man to the side of them popped out of existence with a loud crack. Hermione's eyes went wide with realization. "Can you apparate?" she yelled to Cedric over the noise around them.
"What?" he yelled back, leading them determinedly on.
"Apparition, yeh ijiot!" Oliver reiterated louder, "I can't, I'm drunk!" His hand clenched Hermione's harder, threading their fingers together securely.
"No license!" Cedric returned, voice higher pitched than usual.
"Ah shite," Oliver cursed, looking down at Hermione briefly.
She tried to smile up at him, but the pain of a stitch starting in her side made it more of a grimace. It was glaringly obvious that physical activity wasn't her thing, she was sweating and panting already. If she stopped running, she was sure that she wouldn't be able to start again.
It seemed that Cedric got the message when he looked over at them. "Here goes nothing!" he muttered, pulling them to a stop.
Face hard, Oliver reached over and put his hand on the other boy's shoulder. He glanced over Hermione's shoulder. "Cedric..." he called, eyes widening.
The chanting grew ever louder; the Death Eaters were still coming.
Cedric turned on his heel and suddenly Hermione was being squeezed through a super-tight rubber tube. Everything in her vision was black and she couldn't breathe, like there was an iron band around her chest. Just as she was afraid that she'd pass out, the feeling was gone.
When Hermione looked around, blinking harshly against the shock of her sight returning, she rather liked the view. The path she stood on led to a stone cottage with unusual but peaceful curved lines and large windows, which had dim light filtering through them. There was a small front garden around them, but at the moment Hermione didn't pay attention to it; her knees were shaking with the relief of being safe.
Almost as soon as she had that realization, she felt terrified for Harry, Ron and the Weasleys. "What about your parents?" Hermione blurted out, "And Harry and-"
"Mum will floo-call Mrs. Weasley the moment we get in," Cedric replied quietly, tugging Hermione and Oliver toward the door. He opened it without a sound, before he called, "Mum! It's me!"
"Cedric?" a middle aged woman questioned, hurrying out of a large sitting room, "You're early! What happened?" Her blue eyes peered worriedly out of a face startlingly like Cedric's at. "Where's your father?" she asked, "And who are our guests?"
"This is Oliver Wood and Hermione Granger," Cedric responded, shoulders slumping with relief, "We need to get a hold of Mrs. Weasley, there's been an attack at the campsite. We just managed to get out."
Mrs. Diggory paled drastically, before ushering her guests farther in. She closed the door after them, wringing her hands all the while. "I'll floo-call Molly, come with me," she instructed them, pacing quickly past a large dining area and back into the sitting room.
It was only when the three sat down on the couch that Hermione realized the boys were still holding her hands. She tried pulling them free, but both simply laced their fingers with hers tighter. She gave in and squeezed back, comforted by the knowledge that she wasn't alone.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Diggory tossed a handful of floo powder into the fireplace. She called, "The Burrow!" before sticking her face into the green flames.
As the adrenaline stopped flowing into her system, Hermione found her eyelids drooping. According to the clock, it was past one in the morning.
The floo call wasn't even over when she fell asleep.
Be sure to review and tell me how I'm doing!
-Thrae