The Perennial State
by
Padfootz-luvr
Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize is mine.
Full Summary: For the life of her, Hermione had no idea where she had landed. Hermione, Ron, and Harry are escaping Death Eaters by broomstick, the summer before their 7th year, when Hermione is hit with an unknown curse, and falls into a mysterious wood. "This is private property." There she is found by a young man who claims to be someone she once knew...SBHG, loosely based on themes found in J. M. Barry's Peter Pan.
--
"…Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away
Now it looks as if they're here to stay…"
--
For the life of her, Hermione Granger had no idea where she had landed.
The last thing she remembered was flying over London; she, Harry, and Ron had been traveling at dangerous speeds, pursued by faceless foes; and they had been traveling by broomstick no less, which was possibly her least favorite form of travel (after Hippogriff, that is). Then…she recalled being hit, by some curse or another, and someone had been screaming (could it have been her?), and then she recalled falling.
The fall had been strangest of all: though at first she had sped towards the ground at what seemed, at the time, a sickeningly slow pace, she found herself picking up incomprehensible speed; the rush of air that had been speeding past her ears and through her hair had turned into thousands of voices, whispering just out of earshot.
Perhaps it had been the vertigo from the horrid plunge, but she couldn't help but feel as though the voices had been speaking backwards. This, of course, was a ridiculous notion, because she had not even been able hear the murmurs properly. And yet, Hermione still thought that she had felt these topsy-turvy voices and situations, just to the left, or above, or to her right…
Presently, however, she was in what she assumed to be a small wood. She had no idea how she could have possibly survived that fall, but the thought was pushed from her head as she took in her surroundings. She concluded that she must have been unconscious for a while, because the nighttime into which she had fallen had dissolved into a warm mid-morning. The air around her was hazy, as though a perpetual mist floated through this area despite the sun and warmth.
Rays of light filtered through the occasional bare patch in the treetops, illuminating a brook nearby. Hermione could hear numerous birds twittering in the area, although she didn't see any about. There was rustling in the underbrush to her right, and years of Mad-Eye Moody's warnings sprang to mind.
She stood quietly, brushing herself off; there was a dampness lingering from the moss on which she had been laying moments before. She glanced down at the soft ground, which was entirely covered with various types of moss and groundcover, from some of which sprang miniscule white flowers. Gnats kept close to the soil, and small clouds of them rose as Hermione stepped through the woods toward the tiny stream. She kneeled at the moist edge, examining the water for purity. She reached for her wand and froze, brown eyes widening as she found nothing but an empty pocket in her jeans.
Hermione took a deep breath, trying to remain calm as she stood once more, retracing her steps to where she had awoken. She searched the surrounding area meticulously, several times over, but found naught. Suppressing the urge to curse loudly into the beautiful woodland, she wandered back to the stream, considerably more alert now that she was defenseless. Panic bubbled in her belly even as she scooped several handfuls of cool, fresh water onto her tired face, and she found unexpected tears stinging her eyes.
No. She couldn't cry now. She had been through—they had been through—much worse than this. It would be silly to give into panic and such silly things as emotions now, of all times. They had—Oh. Oh, god…They.
A new terror overwhelmed her as Hermione thought about Harry and Ron. They had been traveling together, what had happened? Where were they? What if—? No. The thoughts that were arresting her mind were too dreadful to fathom.
She decided immediately that she must find a way out of this wood immediately. But which way should she try…Hermione bit her bottom lip hard, contemplating her surroundings. Each direction looked the same…But the trees were not too large, and the woods were light and airy enough that they couldn't bee too deep…
How far can you walk into the forest? The old riddle sprung from the depths of her memories, unbidden, and Hermione's felt a bit heartened as the answer came, as well. Halfway, because after that you are walking out of it. No matter which direction she chose, she would eventually reach the edge.
With a sigh, Hermione splashed her face with a few more handfuls of the clear, crisp water, and sipped some of the refreshing liquid before rising once more, and turning to follow along the banks of the stream. The stream flowed at what was almost a lethargic pace, speeding only when confronted with the occasional rock or rotting log. Hermione found herself walking at a similar speed, as the calming sounds of the trickling water and the emotional exhaustion weighed down on her strength.
The sun rose overhead. At what appeared to be midday, she settled onto the soft grass in a small clearing along the bank, under a large willow. The shade was cool, and the water she drank sat heavily in her empty stomach. Hermione felt her eyelids falling, felt herself drifting off, the toll finally getting to her…
"This is private property."
--
"There's a shadow hanging over me
Oh yesterday came suddenly…"
--
Feedback is appreciated.