They emerge from the twisting, stifling nothingness and as their feet are buried in the sand, she gulps in the salty air, gasping for breath, tears streaming down her face. She's hyperventilating and she knows it; it's not healthy. She tries to slow down her breathing, but it's difficult. She focusses on the strong arms that are encircling her and listens to the rhythm of the waves, trying to breathe in time with it. In..out...in...out..she's safe now, or as safe as you can get in these times. It's hard to adapt to the feeling.
She was so close to death: inches, maybe even millimetres. Her hand touches her neck, where Bellatrix's knife was, minutes before. There's blood on her fingers when she brings them back down. It makes her flinch. Not the sight of the blood - she's not squeamish, and it's only a trickle anyway - but the thought that one push from Bellatrix, a tiny application of force, and she would have been dead. Gone. Bellatrix wouldn't have hesitated, either.
"Drop your wands... Drop them, or we'll see exactly how filthy her blood is!"
She knows the words will haunt her for a long time. There had been a horrible, heart-stopping moment when Harry and Ron had stayed where they were, their wands staying glued to their hands, when Hermione had thought that it was really the end. That she was going...she doesn't know where. Hermione Granger is sure of a lot of things, but where you go when you die isn't one of them. It scares her. And she feels guilty about that; she should be ready to die for this cause without hesitation.
She's hyperventilating again. A pain spreads across her chest. Maybe looking at the waves will help. She drags her eyes up from the ground at her feet and watches them swirling in and out, curling over themselves. She looks to her left, taking in her surroundings properly. So this is where Bill and Fleur have moved to. It's beautiful. The hillside they're on opens out into a large expanse of deserted sand, and the waves lap onto the beach from the smooth open sea. The horizon is hazy in the distance; there's no land nearby.
Recalling her last trip to the seaside, regret washes over her - it's a happy memory, but it's so distant. She recalls laughing and joking with her parents, eating fish and chips on the pier, wanting to swim but giving up because she didn't want frostbite, ice-cream melting, playing football on the sand...how could she do it? How did she erase herself completely from her parents' memories, along with every other aspect of their lives?
She looks to her right and is in for a shock: Harry is there in the distance, bent over a helpless, bloody Dobby, and she can just make out the glint of a silver knife handle protruding from the elf's tiny chest.
A strangled noise escapes her throat and she lurches forward, trembling uncontrollably. She doesn't go far, though - Ron's arms are still wrapped around her and he manages to hold her back. He's saying something to her, but she keeps fighting him, unable to register what it is; nothing can take away the horrific sight in front of her eyes.Dobby...no...
Another voice makes her look up.
"Hermione, there's nothing you can do for him," he says gently. It's Bill. There's always been something calming about his presence. He's always so...collected.
She swallows and nods, wiping the tears from her face. In...out...in...out...
"Let's get you inside, Hermione," Ron says, sounding relieved. She gives his hand a squeeze, feeling slightly guilty that she didn't respond to him. He's trying hard.
Bill's left the front door open, so they walk straight into the little cottage, which could be straight out of a fairytale - slightly crooked, with mahogany wood floorboards and family photos lining the walls. She would love to live somewhere like this: it's remarkably similar to the home that used to crop up in her childhood daydreams. (She doesn't dream anymore. There's no point.)
Ron drags her through to the front room, where Fleur is looking agitatedly out of the window, trying to get a hold on what's happening. She takes in the odd assortment of people who arrived with them: Dean and Luna, who are still outside, and Mr Ollivander and Griphook the goblin. Her saturated brain can't detect any kind of a link between these people, and for a change she doesn't bother trying to find one. All will be revealed to her later.
Ron strides across the room and addresses Fleur. "She's pretty mashed up," he tells her without premise, gesturing towards Hermione. Fleur just nods and leaves the room, returning a few seconds later with her arms full of ointments and bandages. She lifts Hermione's sleeve carefully and then recoils in shock.
Hermione looks down at her arm; she hasn't seen the damage for herself yet. There's been too much else to look at and concentrate on. She shudders at the sight before her: the letters M-U-D-B-L-O-O-D brutally carved into her arm, glistening with fresh blood. She's been marked like an animal. Bellatrix's words reverberate in her head. "...filthy, lying Mudblood...worthless..."
"What... what 'appened?" Fleur breathes, looking over at Ron rather than Hermione, and Ron only shakes his head. Fleur sucks the air back into her lungs and turns back towards Hermione, a cautious expression on her face. She takes a cloth and wipes it over the wounds; the blood is gone, but the scars remain, and probably will for a long time. She wraps a bandage around it, dabs ointment onto Hermione's neck and sighs.
"Zat's all I can do for now," she says worriedly. "We should join them outside. You'll be okay?"
Hermione nods, and Ron says fiercely, "I'll stay with her." His hand covers hers protectively and she's brought back to his screams echoing from the dungeon... what does it all mean?
It's too confusing. The pain in her chest is back.
She speaks for the first time.
"Ron?" she croaks weakly. "Can you...can you open the window?"
"Of course," he says immediately, leaving her side for the first time to wrench open the old wooden frame. She relaxes. The sound is back, and it soothes her. It's the one thing that stays constant in all of this.
In...out...in...out...
A/N: For the A Character A Week Competition on HPFC. The prompt was 'waves', and I obviously chose Hermione as my character - this was the scene that came to mind. For some reason, I had an overwhelming desire to write in present tense, which I don't normally do, and I'm quite pleased with how it turned out. :)
The quote from Bellatrix a few paragraphs down is taken directly from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, which I do not own.