Disclaimer: All things Harry Potter belong to J.K. Rowling
If there was one thing Hermione Granger remembered about that cold Halloween night, it was the running. Endless running, unsure if they were running to or running from, and what it was they were running for anyway.
Their breathing heavy despite their efforts to move silently, they ran. Their footsteps pounding the frozen earth, they ran.
"If we get split up, just run and I'll take care of it," Harry had told them as they prepared for the night. "I don't want you two getting hurt."
Ron and Hermione had protested in vain. Harry was adamant that when it came down to it, only he could finish the task. The task that he had set for himself the previous spring, after Dumbledore's death.
The threesome had crept through the sleeping village of Little Hangleton, dressed completely in black, even wearing black facemasks. The disguise was meant to help them blend in with the inky night, but also served as an alibi should they come across anyone. Three teenagers out for a bit of fun on Halloween night. Nothing suspicious about that...
The village was deceivingly peaceful as they made their way steadily towards the graveyard. One would think it was the perfect country town; rolling hills, quaint churches, and streets that bustled with activity come daybreak. The three Gryffindors were not fooled; they knew what lie buried in the graveyard.
Over the months of summer and fall, all the evidence that Hermione had so painstakingly gathered pointed to one conclusion. Dumbledore was wrong. The remaining Horcruxes were not Hufflepuff's cup, Slytherin's locket, a relic of Ravenclaw or Gryffindor, and Nagini. One of the suspected Horcruxes was incorrect, replaced by a slab of marble set in Little Hangleton's cemetery.
It was this realization that had led them to Merope Gaunt Riddle's final resting place that icy Halloween. As they searched the rows of crumbling headstones, prickles on the back of Hermione's neck told her that the trio was not alone.
She moved closer to Harry and tugged at his hand. He leaned his black clad head down to hear her whispered message.
"Someone's here with us," she hissed.
"I know. It's Voldemort. My scar's been burning for the last twenty minutes," he answered quietly.
Hermione felt her heart start pounding and she turned to spread the message to Ron. He was already staring off to the west, his jaw dropped. From behind a large statue in the center of the graveyard, a pair of red eyes glowed brilliantly.
"Run!" Harry hissed. "You two run for it and I'll try to blast the headstone as I follow."
"How will you find it, Harry? Let us help you!" Hermione pleaded.
"Go!" Harry insisted. "I'll find it, I promise."
Numb with fear, Hermione slipped her shaking hand into Ron's and they took off through the cemetery. An icy frost coated the ground, causing their feet to slip and side as they went. They could hear shouting behind them as they fled.
"Crucio!" A high, chilling voice broke the silence of the dead. A flash of light sped across the cemetery, and Hermione began to utter fervent prayers as she dodged tombstones and granite memorials.
"Sectumsempra!" This time it was Harry's voice shouting. Hermione nearly sobbed in relief; Harry was still fighting.
"Hermione, stop!" Ron muttered in her ear. "Hide behind this tombstone." The two plastered themselves behind the large marble marker.
"We can't leave Harry," he whispered in explanation. "We have to stay close." Hermione nodded in agreement. They weren't near enough to help him, but if needed, they could get there quickly.
Merope Gaunt Riddle, the last descendent of Salazar Slytherin, excluding Lord Voldemort himself. Was her small headstone the "possession of Slytherin's", or did Lord Voldemort use her resting place as a Horcrux simply because she was his mother?
Hermione wasn't sure. Right now, it didn't matter. All that counted was destroying the headstone and escaping the graveyard alive.
Suddenly Harry was pounding past them. Ron and Hermione jumped from their hiding place and sprinted after him. He spun in panic until he heard their voices softly calling for him to wait.
"It's us, Harry!"
He motioned for them to follow. Again, they were running, running faster than Hermione had ever run before. They came to a black wrought iron fence that ran the perimeter of the graveyard. Harry quickly scrambled over it, but Hermione was too short.
Ron boosted her up and forcefully shoved her over the iron spikes. One of the points gashed her stomach as she tumbled into Harry's arm, and she had to bite her bottom lip to keep from crying out in pain.
Ron leapt over the fence and they were off again. Down the village's winding paths, past the ramshackle Gaunt house, into the countryside, they stumbled along in the shadowy night.
When they were beyond the city limits, they stopped, panting at the side of the road.
"Are you strong enough to Apparate?" Ron asked. "I think it's safe now."
Harry's breathing was shallow. "I don't know," he whispered. "I'm not feeling so well…"
"Hermione?" Ron inquired, wrapping an arm around her trembling form.
"I'm bleeding," she answered, touching her stomach lightly. "I'm bleeding a lot, Ron." Her shaking voice echoed fear and pain.
Ron tightened his arm around her at the same time that Harry started to tip forwards. Ron threw his other arm around him.
"Harry, what's wrong?"
"He hit me with the Cruciatus curse," Harry breathed. "I'm all woozy. Ron, we have to get out of here."
"I know," Ron said miserably. "Here, hold on to me, tightly."
The three huddled together, their arms wrapped around each other for support. Concentrating as hard as he could, Ron painstakingly began the apparation process. This time, he couldn't leave so much as a single eyebrow behind. Three lives were depending on it. Three lives that were needed to fight the final part of Lord Voldemort's seven part soul…the part that rested in the Dark Lord himself.
This was written for a challenge for the site.