The Traitor

A pale hand gripped the boy's shirt, a gasping man begged with him. "You can't look after me," he wheezed. "You know it. I know it. I'm being killed by my own curse." The man's black hair was greasier than normal, sweat dibbled off of his chin. He shivered with fever.

The boy gave him a stern look. "I'm trying. I just... Don't know what I should be doing! It's too complicated, I don't know any healing spells," he spat, pushing his too long blonde hair back behind his ears. "The Dark Lord doesn't exactly encourage learning how to revive someone. All he wants us to do is kill, kill, kill."

"He may not teach you anything useful, but he is still a powerful man. Do not speak about him with such blatant rudeness. He will hear it in the depths of his withered soul, find us, and kill us."

The boy sighed. "I know..." He regarded the man with worry. "You aren't going to get better unless I bring her are you? She's the only one smart enough, she's the only one that will understand..."

"I'm afraid so. But more important than nursing me back to health, she will find a way to get you back into school. You need to finish your last year at Hogwarts, even as someone different, in a different house. For all the pain, turmoil, war. You will be needed. You know where you should be now."

The man shook as a gust of icy air briefly gusted through the cave. He strained a smile at the younger boy, he was almost a man now. It was amazing how much he had grown up in the past weeks. And not even because neither of them had the chance to shave. The boy nodded in agreement.

"But how? She'll never listen to me. We hate each other, and always have."

"She's a compassionate person. With a little bit of understanding, she will help. I know it. Your a smart boy, Draco. You'll figure it out."

"Hermione, we'll be gone for a week. All our contact numbers are on the fridge, try not to leave the house unless its absolutely necessary."

Her parents wheeled their suitcases out the door, each stopping to press a kiss against her forehead before proceeding down the drive. "I'll be fine. I promise. You guys have a nice time in France," Hermione smiled at them as her dad frowned.

"I've seen those movies 'Mione. No parties. No drugs. No alcohol. Definitely no boys. Got it?" he said sternly, looking her straight in the eye.

"Dad, I promise. It'll just be a week alone. Me and Crookshanks. Harry and Ron won't even come around. I need a break too."

Hermione's parents smiled at her, then each other. "We trust you, be safe." And they were gone. Slamming the car door shut, driving down the street. She sighed, sliding down the wall with her knees tucked in tight.

An orange ball of fur crawled under her legs, Crookshanks pushed his head between her knees. "Looks like it's just the two of us Crookshanks. And those rules go for you too. No parties. No drugs. No alcohol. Definitely no boys. Or girls. Whatever floats your boat kitty-cat."

She smiled as her cat purred softly. Rising to her feet, and into the living room, Hermione collapsed on the couch, turned on the television. It was blurred with news of new terrorist attacks, so called bombings. Rolling her eyes, she flicked channels.

These Voldemort issues were serious, but at home... She just couldn't bring herself to be serious about them. She took them as bombings and terrorists, but it was so much more than that. Only, her parents were so clueless and careless, she couldn't suddenly bring all of this on them. It would frighten them, and loose her independence. That was what she feared the most. Because now she was seventeen, she could use her magic whenever, wherever, she could protect her family. She had the power, and she had the guts.

There was a distinct pop from outside the window, her heart started to race. Somebody had just apparated outside her house...

This is one of the shortest chapters I've ever written, but it's kinda just an introduction to the story. Setting the scene and all that jazz.