Colin Creevey looked young. Lying in the bright green grass covered in morning dew he was tiny and if it weren't for his frozen state he would appear inconsequential as well. But he wasn't. His unmoving body that lied at an angle just awkward enough to rule slumber as a perpetrator out held all of the consequences of the last few hours. Hermione had a brief vision of the boys she used to watch play football out of her bedroom window as she read before she even knew Hogwarts existed. She'd thought them so grown up with their boisterous voices and secondary school uniforms, she wondered if they'd look as young as Colin if she could go back to that moment. Had the years made them look so young? Had her experiences proved that their brief lives were unfinished and full of potential? She shook her head to rid herself of her morbid thoughts, she couldn't dwell on the fallen. She needed to keep moving.
The sun was rising steadily, not that it could be seen. Hermione could only notice the mist that surrounded her grow even more white as the night stretched to morning. She could hardly make out the Great Lake which she knew to be a mere few paces in front of her. Soon however, the mist would rise, and the morning after would truly be here. The world's way of cementing yesterdays' events into history. Then it wouldn't be Hermione finding little Colin's body but maybe his father or mother who'd spent the day scouring the Scottish moors with hope in their hearts. She couldn't let that happen.
She had work to do.
Reaching up with her wand she shot a signalling charm through the air. McGonagall and Flitwick would find him now. They would know how to nurture this grief into something that would be bittersweet, rather than poisonous. Taking a step nearer to the boy that had entertained her to no end in second year with his excitement and adoration of Harry she dropped to her knees. Slowly she turned his pale face towards her, his bright blue eyes were dulled criminally and seemed to stare at nothing at all. With slow deliberate movements she closed his eyes. Shutting her own eyes in solidarity she sent a prayer to whoever might be listening that this young man's afterlife would be more peaceful then his end.
Standing sharply, she stalked away from the grewsome scene with her borrowed winter robes billowing in the cold winds behind her. She wondered across the grounds hugging the border of the Forbidden Forest in the pursuit of more of her fallen allies. She couldn't help but hope so fervently that Colin Creevey would be the last of her friends she'd have to discover this cold foggy morning. As predicted the mists were rising to reveal the grim day that seemed to permeate through her weariness even further. She sighed once more before leaning against the grooved wood of an old Willow tree and sliding slowly down until her elbows rested on her knees.
She'd have to get back to Ron soon, she'd left to help McGonagall but also to allow her friend to grieve for his lost brother. Was that even what he was anymore? A friend? Things had just spiralled out of control so fast tonight. She knew she was in love with Ron, there was no way she could deny the way she'd felt for Ron for the last few years, but the timing was just so off. They'd need to deal with everything that had happened before they even revisited that one desperate kiss they'd shared what felt like hours before.
The fog cleared a little more revealing the house that she'd never wanted to see again. The Shrieking Shack stood in all its glory with its flaking paint and ominous ambiance. It filled her heart with the anger she'd suppressed for the last few hours. Reaching for a stone resting near her hand she leapt to her feet and flung it with as much power as she could muster in the direction of the deserted house. It hit the slated roof harmlessly before dropping to the ground pathetically. Racing forward she targeted the rusted metal door banging her fists against the cold galvanised iron redundantly. When that proved fruitless she began to kick as hard as she could.
To any witnesses, the sudden savage behaviour of the young woman might seem shocking but in Hermione's mind the house deserved it. Something had to pay for all the pain, for all the hurt. She stopped only as her hands began to bloody, the red staining the metal more than her ineffectual fists ever could.
Reaching forward she pulled the latch of the door and walked into the dusty decrepit house. She wiped the tears from her face with her bloody fists harshly. She didn't deserve to cry, she was still alive. But once the angry tears began to fall she couldn't stop them. She was sure she looked a mess with bloody cheeks and wild hair, but she didn't care. She crept forward feeling numb from the outpour of aggression. Pausing at the end of the hallway she took a deep breath, she knew what was next if she turned this corner. With morbid sadism she didn't save herself the terrible sight for the second time.
Severus Snape was dead. That much was obvious, his blood had long since soaked into the aged wooden floors of the ancient house, never to be removed. With Colin there had been some semblance of the boy she'd once known, some reminder that at one point he had lived. Snape however, was well and truly absent. His dark eyes weren't staring out into the abyss, they were just empty. His body was completely destroyed by that terrible beast that had remained at the side of Tom Riddle until the very end.
Hermione couldn't help the gasp that she released at the scene, a few hours ago she'd supressed the sight and moved straight onto the next atrocity. Isolated however, there was nothing she could do but take in the brutal massacre. A hand flew to her mouth to silence her harsh breathing, she felt like she was disturbing the scene, and if there was anything that Snape never appreciated it was a disturbance.
…
Hermione opened her eyes hesitantly. Her head was pounding harshly, and it took her a few moments to take in her surroundings. A bright light steamed over her face forcing her to lift her arm to block out the affront to her senses. Huffing uncomfortably at how heavy her limb felt at the movement she tried to push herself up in the bed she was stretched out in. She'd recognise these bed sheets anywhere, the hospital wing. But once the light was blocked out she took notice of the differences. There was only one bed in the room and the windows seemed more modern. A steady beeping distracted her from her attempt at rising and she turned her head to her side only to see a muggle heart monitoring machine. Following the leads, she belatedly noticed the device covering her fingers and the drip that attached to the top of her hand.
A thousand ideas flew threw Hermione's head before she settled on the conclusion that she had been admitted to St Mongos. When they'd started using muggle equipment Hermione didn't know, but that was the only answer to her current predicament. Looking down once more she pulled the paper nightgown up over her arms until she noticed the white bandages that covered the patch of her right arm that Bellatrix had taken her creative liberties with.
"Oh Merlin," Hermione hissed, as she pulled herself up further, straining the needle connected to her line. For the first time her eyes wondered towards the door of the hospital room, a little window at the top of the door showed a few people walking past hurriedly.
Suddenly the door opened and before Hermione had the chance to feign sleep a heavy-set nurse walked through the threshold purposefully, followed slowly by two tall broad men that seemed out of place with the environment.
"Oh, good love, you're awake," the nurse commented before hurrying towards her and pushing her back into the pillows gently. Hermione allowed herself to be guided by the woman who seemed to emanate a maternal vibe. She even allowed her to adjust the heart monitor on her finger but bristled noticeably when she reached for her bandaged arm.
"Excuse me," Hermione muttered firmly while pulling away, she coughed a few times to clear her throat.
"That's quite alright dear," the nurse muttered, not even attempting to disguise the pity in her eyes. Hermione turned her face away, she didn't deserve this compassion. Not when little Colin Creevey lied in the grass until the morning dew formed.
"Why am I here?" Hermione questioned, swiftly dispensing with the trivialities. She'd earned that mush at least. Something strange flickered across the older woman's face and she spared the two men in the room a glance before turning back to face Hermione.
"Can you tell us your name?" One of the men asked reaching for a little notebook in the inner pocked of his black jacket, the other man mimicked his actions slowly. Hermione couldn't help the surprise that overtook her in that moment.
"You don't know who I am?" Hermione interrogated in disbelief. It wasn't arrogance that fuelled her line of questioning but curiosity, it wasn't often that she met anyone who couldn't recognise Undesirable Number 2.
"I can't say I do Ma'am," he responded with a small smile that didn't reach his eyes. It seemed like he was afraid to startle her, as if she were unstable. Hermione allowed her eyes to take in her surroundings once more but with less clouded eyes. The men were both wearing suits that were undoubtedly muggle in origin. The nurse herself was wearing blue scrubs that differed completely from Mongo's style. Releasing a massive sigh, she belatedly considered the idea of a mix up. Without sparing the muggles another look, she reached down and unclipped the monitor and pulled the needle out callously.
"Miss!" The nurse exclaimed as she reached for Hermione, but she was too late. Hermione was already moving her feet to hang over the side of the bed. With a deep breath she stood hesitantly on her weak legs. When she didn't immediately fall she took a step forward only to lose her balance and stumble forward a little. Automatically one of the men caught her just before she hit the ground.
"Fuck," his gruff voice mumbled as he pulled her to stand. He was younger than his partner, maybe in his early twenties and had yet to speak in the brief interlude besides the muffled curse.
"Sorry," Hermione murmured as she shook his hands off as they tried to steady her. She was more than embarrassed, her cheeks flamed red at her clumsiness. "Where are my clothes?" She asked the nurse who seemed frozen by the hurried movements of her patient.
"Excuse me young lady, but you are in no condition to be moving around," she commanded once she had found her voice.
"My clothes?" Hermione demanded once more. She knew she was being brisker than was strictly necessary, but her mind was filled with thoughts of an irate Ron and Harry at her sudden disappearance. She couldn't even remember collapsing. The last thing she could recall was the Shrieking Shack.
"I'm sorry Miss-," the older man paused for her to reveal her name but when a few moments paused without her speaking he continued with a reluctant sigh. "But those clothes have been processed as evidence," he continued hesitantly, watching her reaction to the news carefully.
"Evidence of what exactly?" Hermione asked, annunciating each syllable deliberately so each occupant of the room would realise just how testy the situation was making her.
"Well we found you in a ditch pretty roughed up and to top it all off you had a message carved into your arm," the older man declared clearly losing patience with her irritation.
"Detective!" The nurse castigated as she tried to approach Hermione once more but paused at the fierce look that was sent in her direction.
"Now I'm sorry Miss but you're the first person alive I've managed to find with that mark on their arms and my partner and I have travelled quite some distance to meet you. You're a great deal older than who we usually find so this is decidedly suspicious," the older detective continued fiercely.
So, Bellatrix had been up to her old tricks with the new muggleborns children.
The mere thought made Hermione nauseous. She suppressed her disgust in favour of solving the problem at hand.
"Was there anything with my clothes?" Hermione murmured, she gripped the metal edge of the bed firmly to balance herself.
"Nothing but scrap wood," the younger detective responded, perhaps feeling pity for her unsettled state. Hermione heaved a sigh of relief at the thought of her wand, wherever it was.
"I want my things," she muttered, not meeting anyone's eyes.
"And I want to stop a child serial killer," the older detective responded succinctly. A moment passed where Hermione tried to gather her thoughts. Slowly she extended her left hand, her right was still bloody from when she'd removed the needle.
"Luna Potter," she introduced on a whim. Both detectives stared at her hand for a few moments before the younger reached out and gripped her hand gently.
"Detective Barrow and this here is Detective Rodgers," he explained with a wave of his free hand. She shook his hand firmly, trying to project the reputation she'd garnered over the last few months as a war hero, not a weak young girl.
"Now that the introductions are finished, why don't you head back to bed Luna you've-," the nurse tried to encourage but Hermione interrupted her once more, she didn't have time to be coddled. Not when all of her friends were probably on a wild goose chase trying to track her down.
"We get out of here and I'll answer your questions, in return you give me my things," Hermione bartered weakly.
"This is absurd-," the irate nurse attempted to interject.
"Deal," the older Detective muttered, finally extending his hand. His right hand hovered in the air confidently, forcing Hermione to shake with her bloodied hand.
…..
"So, Miss Potter, where do you live?" Detective Rodgers asked. They were sat in the Hospital Cafeteria which was filled with busy people bustling around. The brown package of Hermione's personal effects rested in the middle of the table, but that wasn't what had captured her attention.
"A little late for Christmas decorations," Hermione muttered as she examined the fibreoptic tree that stood in the middle of the otherwise plain room. Dread filled her heart at the sight of the harmless decoration. How long had she slept for? Why couldn't she remember how she'd ended up here?
"Christmas isn't for another week Love," Detective Barrows responded with a sympathetic look. Hermione froze, the battle had been in early May. How could she have slept so long?
"How old are you?" Detective Rodgers pressed on.
"I… I don't know," she responded completely thrown for a loop.
"Fifteen? Sixteen?" Barrows pressed curiously. She wasn't offended by the younger approximations, she knew that the war had made her skinny and meek looking.
"Well, what year were you born? Then minus it from seventy-seven," Rodgers pressed forward impatiently.
"Seventy-seven?" Hermione questioned dumbly.
"Well it's nearly the new year?" Barrows murmured, examining her reaction. Hermione's whole body froze at the turn of the conversation.
It wasn't possible
She repeated the words over and over in her head, but she couldn't supress how everything was suddenly falling into place. Why Harry and Ron hadn't tracked her down yet, why the Christmas tree sat so proudly in the middle of the room and why the two men in front of her were dressed that little bit off from what she was used to. Her hand flew to her mouth in shook. Dispensing with any sense of decorum she snatched the package from the table and ran out of the busy cafeteria before the two men could even think of stopping her.
Ripping the package open as she raced forward and felt around for her wand, when her hand finally managed to clutch around the familiar piece of wood she heaved a massive sigh of relief. So consumed was she that she wasn't watching where she was going. She ran straight into a hard body that quickly wrapped his strong arms around her to immobilize her.
"Miss Potter, I think we might have to have a chat down at the station," Detective Barrows declared as he pulled her towards the door. Hermione contemplated using her wand to free herself, but she knew enough damage was being done to the timeline by her mere presence without exposing magic as well. Instead she fought to free her arms to no success. He was stronger and taller than her and she was still so weak from the battle. She slumped pathetically in his arms as he pushed her out the front door and forward into the cold morning air. Her paper nighty, thin nightgown and slippers were no match for chill and she shuddered involuntarily at the shook to her system.
The young Detective reached between them and opened his jacket so that she was shoved against his shirt instead. It was warmer, but she hadn't been held so restrictively since the snatchers had brought them to Malfoy manor. The memory hurt her already fried brain.
"Settle down," Barrows muttered soothingly as he led her to an unmarked car. She didn't have to look to know that Rogers was following behind them. She realised tardily that she had begun to struggle again at the contact and forced herself to stop. They were just doing their job, if more wizardry folk worried about the deaths of muggleborns like this perhaps she wouldn't be in this situation.
The drive to the station was mostly spent in silence. Luckily, they hadn't ripped the wand from her hand, but she still felt nervous using magic in a setting like this. Instead she squared her shoulder and vowed to begin to act like the mediator she'd always wanted to be, back when the ministry had held her respect.
"Where are we going?" She demanded from the backseat.
"We're set up in a little barracks in Cokeworth, it's where they found you," Barrows responded from the passenger seat. The location held no significance to Hermione, so she settled back and waited for the car to come to a stop. They seemed to be in the midlands of England from what she could make out. Finally, they pulled up outside a small building that was painted yellow and had the lighted symbol of the police at the door. The small symbol was the only way to differentiate the building from any normal house.
"You weren't kidding when you said small," Hermione muttered. She was beginning to feel more like herself, her confidence and logic returning to her.
Both Detectives left the car before coming to stand outside her door, she tried not to feel too put out by their actions. After all, she was a flight risk. She could hear their hushed conversation outside before Barrows opened the door hesitantly reaching for her uninjured arm and firmly gripped it. He gave her an apologetic smile, but Hermione knew that this was the agreement the two men had come to. She allowed herself to be dragged into the building tiredly applying minimal resistance.
She was sat next to heater in the main bull pin of the office space, she could tell that the local police were curious at her appearance but weren't commenting so the detectives must have some respect around here.
"Keep the front door locked," Rodgers called as he flicked the door locked and withdrew the key before placing it in his jacket pocket. A few nods responded to him but other than that everyone remained silent and continued with their work. It seemed Cokeworth wasn't a busy barracks, no one other than police were in the station.
"Now Miss Potter, can we call any family for you?" Barrows asked as he took a seat across from her behind a desk that was clearly not his.
"Am I being held here against my will?" She asked, finally finding the confidence of the woman that had been Undesirable Number 2.
"Now Miss Potter, there's no need to take such a defensive tone," Rodgers replied from behind her.
"Well so far I have been verbally abused and physically manhandled. I want to know if I've been accused of something," Hermione demanded, shocking the two men who were used to her timid attitude.
"Of course not," Barrows replied gently, not looking like he entirely believed his own words. He shared a look with his senior partner that clearly asked a question.
"So, I'm free to go?" Hermione asked, grabbing her clothes and making to stand. Rodgers immediately stood in front of her to impede any of her progress.
"Now Miss Potter, we are not your enemy, we simply want a few questions answered," Rodgers declared with raised hands set in an appeasing manor.
"I am a victim here," Hermione said clearly, the words burned her insides. She wasn't a victim, Colin and his brother were victims, she was nothing.
"And I've found four other victims with that mark on their arms, barely eleven years old," Rodgers conciliated lowly. A moment passed where Hermione felt herself grow sympathetic towards the older man, he was out of his depth and they both knew it. She wished she could tell him the truth, but it just wasn't possible.
"Sir, the drunk's son from Cell 2 is outside, can I let him in?" A young officer interrupted tentatively. Rodgers sighed but withdrew the key and threw it at the man anyway. The man nodded and headed for the door.
"Listen Sir," Hermione began slowly. "I really wish I could help you, but this," she said motioning towards her injured arm, "is not something that can be fixed," she finished cautiously. The Detective eyed her suspiciously.
"So, you won't help us catch a child murderer," Detective Barrows accused from behind her, his voice losing its kind edge. In response Hermione grabbed her clothes and made to stand once more.
"Best of luck Detectives," she muttered before side stepping Rodgers and heading for the door.
"If you know something and aren't telling us then you're as much responsible for those deaths as the killer is," Barrows countered loudly, drawing the eyes of the room onto her. She ignored him and headed towards the front door that the young officer was opening.
"Sorry for the hold up," he was muttering to the person on the other side. She hurried past him but froze the second she saw who he was talking to. He looked the exact same yet entirely different, if that was even possible. He carried himself identically, but the weariness of the war seemed to be lifted from his young shoulders. That wasn't what had Hermione pause at the door however, it was the recognition in his eyes.
Severus Snape knew Hermione Granger.
"Miss Potter I must implore you to-," Detective Barrows said as he trailed after her but paused when he picked up on the tense moment.
"Do you two…?" He asked motioning between Hermione and Severus. Snape, always the composed man with two faces however, had already broken the moment.
"My father, Officer?" he asked ignoring the Detective's line of questioning and seemingly dismissing Hermione completely. She knew better though, she saw how tense his shoulders were, how much he longed to yell at her like she'd messed up a potion in his precious classroom. She knew him better. Hermione hurried though the doors of the barracks with as much dignity as she could manage with her silly hospital clothes and bloody hand. She moved to walk down the street and around the corner in a daze. What composition she'd managed to scrap together to rid herself of the muggle detectives was slowly coming apart and she knew she needed to find some place to get herself together and dress.
She wandered through the unfamiliar town trying to form a plan in her mind. She knew she needed to find Professor Snape eventually, but what she was to do until then she just didn't know. Looking down an alleyway in a near deserted street she took her opportunity to dart behind a large dumpster and changed into her clothes that were still ruined from the war. Yet, they still were better than wondering around in hospital robes. She had looked like she would be committed at any moment.
She took a deep breath and leaned back against the cold red brick wall of the apartment building she had chosen as her hiding place. Closing her eyes, she tried to calm her heart, which had been beating manically ever sense she heard the date. She was beyond tired and knew she needed to get some rest or she'd just end up collapsing instead. She wished Harry was here and instantly felt guilty. Sure, it would be nice to have some company in these odd series of events, but did she really want to put her best friend through this as well?
Suddenly hands had grabbed her wrists firmly. Hermione's eyes flew open but not before her body had acted on instinct and pushed hard against her assailant, but he had been prepared for this reaction and immediately shoved her onto the wall, closing her in with his body. It took her a moment to recognise Severus Snape but when she did she released an irritated growl at his harsh actions.
"What did you do?" Snape hissed, his dark eyes for once filled with rage, rather than their usual unnatural calm. When she didn't reply immediately he shoved her once more against the wall, banging her head in the process. His body towering over her, threatening her usually firm resolve against intimidation.
"Speak," he demanded.
"Nothing," Hermione cried in reply trying to free her wrists from his grip, but he only squeezed tighter.
"What did you do?" He insisted once more, using his clutch on her wrists to shake her whole body.
"Nothing," she replied, louder this time, finally finding her voice. He didn't seem impressed with the answer and shoved her against the wall again this time releasing her wrists and grabbing her chin instead. He turned her face roughly until she had no choice but to glare into his dark eyes. Then they were no longer in the alley, no they were gliding through her memories. Flashes of her time with Harry the last year streaked past her eyes making her feel dizzier then she could ever had imagined. Then the images slowed as he approached the battle until finally he was staring at his own body from Hermione's perspective. She could feel it then, a feeling she been able to supress earlier today. There was most definitely a gap in her memories. A black spot that seemed to press on her very soul.
Then he released her both mentally and physically. She immediately dropped to the ground, the force of his assault robbing her of the little energy she had left. Her head was pounding, and she could feel the obscurity of her mind finally take precedence. The last thing she saw before darkness completely took over was Snape watching her from a few feet away as if she were a piece of evidence that just didn't add up.
…..
Hey guys so this is my new story, please let me know if you think it's worth continuing. Much love over the holiday season, especially to those who might be finding it difficult.
It'slaterthanyouthink
