Author's Note: My second story! Hurrah! I encourage you all to check out my other story (Which Way Is Up?), which can be found on my profile. I'll say this once and only once, so read well: I do not own Harry Potter, nor would I ever even want to imagine taking the honor away from Jo Rowling. I hope you all like this. Please, review!
Intruder
The night was silent and still. No moon shone. The stars, which would usually sparkle brilliantly on a dark night like this, were lackluster. The only objects that emitted light of any kind were the streetlights. This light was not kind, however. Eerie shadows were thrown along the street, turning innocent-looking trees into many-handed, scraggly beings, ready to attack.
A faint 'pop' broke the silence of the night. A man, features distorted and blurred by the ghastly lamplight, panted for a second, not moving from where he stood in the middle of the road. Slowly, he began to run.
His footfalls were light at first, as if his apparition had consecutively been his second wind. Soon, though, they changed from a light patter to a plodding thud. He was slowing down. The young man put a hand to his side. Pulling it away, he inspected it under the lamplight. Even in the dull glow, he instantly recognized the too familiar crimson sheen: blood.
He cursed. Looking around him for the first time, he saw that he was surrounded by houses; he had landed on a residential street. Again, he cursed, hoping that he was not being followed.
He began to run again. He took no more than five steps when a dark mist encroached upon his vision. Dizzy now, he stopped checking his wound.
'God damn, that bastard got me good. There's so much blood,' he thought, his mind a little foggy.
The young man knew he would not have much time if he continued on in this fashion. He needed a place to bandage his wounds, and if he was lucky, a place to stay for the night.
His decision was made. Veering to the left, he approached a small house. It was a modest-looking structure: one story with rose bushes lining the walk to the front door. A small car that looked like it was never used was parked in the driveway. Beyond that, he saw a wood fence, painted white, which enclosed the owner's backyard.
'This will have to suffice for tonight,' he thought, glancing over his shoulder once more.
Instead of going to the front door, for that would have been much too conspicuous even for this late at night, he skirted around the dusty car and hopped over the wood fence. The backdoor would be an adequate entrance tonight.
Trying the doorknob and finding it locked, he whispered a simple "Alohomora". He heard a click and silently swung the door open. Instead of paying attention to the movement of the door, he took in the modest furnishings of some Muggle's laundry room. The door swung shut with an audible clunk. He winced at the noise, praying that the Muggle who lived here would not wake to it.
XOX
Hermione had always been a light sleeper. As a child, she had been remarkably aware of nighttime sounds. She had once been annoyed at the chirping of crickets and the low hooting of owls; they kept her awake. Every so often, she would wake up to a midnight thunderstorm. But now, she was older and accustomed to the nature's nighttime song. They were like a natural lullaby, soothing her to sleep when her often troubled mind roiled with turmoil.
Ever since The War, however, not even nature could sooth her nerves. It was seven years since Voldemort had been defeated, but not without costs. With his demise, Hermione had lost much of what was close to her, most strikingly her best friends. Harry had died while defeating Voldemort. With his death, something inside her had died as well.
'His death changed everyone,' she thought as she stared at her ceiling.
The Weasley family, who she considered to be an extended part of her own, became sullen. Mrs. Weasley was prone to sudden fits of tears whenever Hermione was around. Or when anyone who reminded her of Harry was around, for that matter.
'That explains why Ron went away,' she thought, tears forming in her eyes. 'We were so close and so happy before all this happened. I almost wish it could have stayed that way.'
She and Ron had been a couple since their sixth year and rumors had started to fly from unknown sources about their impending marriage. She did not put much stock in rumors in the first place and this one was no different. And yet Hermione always kind of assumed that she and Ron would end up together. It was looking that way until…
'Until Harry,' she thought again, silent tears forming rivulets down hr cheeks.
Ron took off after Harry died. He disappeared for two months without any contact with Hermione or his family. When he returned home, refusing to answer questions about his whereabouts, he told everyone that he was off to live in Ireland and play Quidditch there as a reserve Keeper. He ignored Hermione completely, only officially severing their relationship after she approached him several times on the matter.
'I just wanted to help him. I wanted to be there for him, but he shoved me aside.' Her tears flowed with renewed vigor now.
After several more minutes of silent crying, Hermione reasoned with herself. 'I shouldn't be dwelling on such things. It's best just to forget.'
She was on the verge of sleep, this thought echoing in her mind when the bump of a door shutting reached her ears. She bolted up in her bed, wide awake.
'Someone is in my house,' she thought, slightly panicked. Wiping the remnants of her tears from her eyes, she grabbed her wand, a dangerous gleam in her eyes and a stern look upon her face.
'Whoever it is picked the wrong night to break in here,' she thought venomously, and slipped out of her room to confront the intruder.
XOX
He stepped over the hampers of dirty laundry and made his way into the kitchen. He took one of the dishtowels hanging off the fridge and pressed it to his side, feeling the blood, which had been seeping from the wound quite steadily, soak into the towel, making it warm and slightly sticky to the touch. Taking a washcloth from the drawer, and making sure it closed noiselessly this time, he turned on the tap. Wetting the cloth sufficiently, he grabbed another dry towel and sat himself at the kitchen table, lifting his shirt and looking at the gash on his side for the first time.
It was deep and ugly looking. The cut was still oozing blood, but at a slower rate now.
'That's good, at least. But if I hadn't been so stupid as to get myself hit with that hex in the first place…'
He trailed off, quietly muttering to himself and hissing slightly as he pressed the wet cloth to his injury.
XOX
'He's in the kitchen,' Hermione thought. She was pressed up against the wall, being as silently as she could be. 'He probably snuck in through the back.'
She heard the tap running and the scraping of a kitchen chair against the wood floor. He mumbled something and she heard him hiss.
'Now!' she told herself.
Hermione sprung out of her hiding place, wand held out in front of her.
"Stupe-". She stopped mid-jinx. Sitting before her at her kitchen table, shirt raised and covered in blood was none other than Draco Malfoy.
XOX
Draco looked up at his attacker, his calm exterior betraying the panic he really felt. Then his jaw fell open.
"Granger?" he spat in surprise. 'Of all the houses on the street, I just had to choose this one,' he thought to himself, silently cursing his bad luck.
"Malfoy?" Her voice was shrill, bordering on a scream, outrage written on her features. "What the bloody hell are you doing in my house?" she asked, angry beyond all reason.
He gave her his customary Draco smirk, knowing it infuriated her even more. "Well," he said in his usual drawl, "I was just cleaning myself up. But now that I know whose rags I'm using, I'll probably just get an infection." He hated to return to his old habit of meaningless insults, but it was Granger, after all.
Hermione's expression was one of pure malice. She strengthened her grip on her wand and kept it level with Draco's head as he slowly and deliberately stood.
"Get out, Malfoy. Now, or else I will not hesitate to jinx you into oblivion."
"Fine, Granger, fine. Don't get your knickers in a twist. It's not like I want to stay in this filthy house anyways." He looked around with an expression of disgust.
He nonchalantly walked to the back door, Hermione's wand now pointed at his back.
"Here's your rags back, Granger. But don't get your hopes up-my blood won't make your's any cleaner." He threw the blood-soaked items at her face. Before she had a chance to retaliate, he was gone into the night.