A/N: Hermione has been running since the fall of Harry Potter and the rise of Voldemort, but now she can run no longer and she will end it on her own terms. Warning: suicide (but not descriptive). RxR. FxF.
Submission for:
Fanfiction Scavenger Hunt Competition: A Voldemort wins! AU
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
The trick is to keep running, to ignore the cry of your aching muscles as you drive them to the extreme. Your quick laboured breaths become the soundtrack of your life, your racing heartbeat the rhythm and your feet hitting the pavement your percussion, as you move swiftly through the streets, the shadows your new home.
You try not to think about the past, to still the piercing pangs as you think of the man who could have prevented this reality, the man who so strong and self-sacrificing faced everyone's greatest fear head-on only to be cut down like an overgrown weed.
Harry Potter was killed that night in the forest, the deadly spell spilled carelessly from the mouth of the Dark Lord. Everyone cried out in horror, anguish and hopelessness. There were countless deaths in his wake as the grounds of the school were bathed in the blood of friends and family. There were many who ran away, their streak of cowardice allowing them to live another day, but the consequences of their actions plaguing them everyday they try to stay alive.
Living in this constant state of fear is taxing on the body and mind. Some people go mad and instead choose to stop running and wait for their pursuers to catch up with them just to put an end to it all. They have chosen their way of escape.
But that's not me. I've always been a fighter from the day I was born. I was forced to prove myself time and time again that I could be better than others, and despite that one act of cowardice, I am going to keep fighting. I refuse to be taken away in chains and ridiculed for my defiance. I refuse to be cornered like a rat toyed with by the giant cat. I will continue to fight until I draw my last breath, and if that day comes, I will do it on my terms, even if I draw it out myself.
I run to stay alive as there's not much else I can do. Soon after his victory and our defeat, traces were put on all muggleborn wands. Any amount of magic would bring them down on you within seconds. Not even apparation is possible, the small spark of magic landing you right into their waiting arms.
I've fallen, an unfortunate jutting piece of metal piercing my shin. The blood is flowing freely and I curse myself for not seeing it in my path, too caught up with looking over my shoulder. I can no longer run, my magic act faltering and I look around for anyone to help. But no one will help anyone like me. They know what I am as well, obvious from my appearance and the ever-present wide-eyed stare of a fugitive.
Something must be done before I can continue running. I pull out my wand, hoping I'll be fast enough after they appear. The spell is but a whisper, hoping its volume will diminish the alert but it doesn't. My half-healed leg is ignored as black vapors materialize into expressionless faces.
They advance upon me, no words said as these events have played out countless times before to many faceless captives. No rights are read - you have no rights. No warnings made - why warn against the inevitable? No tears shed - crying helps nothing.
I hold my wand out, my jaw set, the lion within me roaring to be free of his cage and allowed a new kill. I hit one, his body landing heavily but that spurs the others on. They realize I'm not backing down and they need to move quickly.
Two hold me down, their weight uncomfortable on my chest and arms. Dirt and stones enter my still open wound but that doesn't matter. I have been caught as we knew I would be. But as I said, I will draw my last breath when I see fit. With the wand turned on myself, I shut my eyes and all the pain, regret, fear, loss, hopelessness and horrible thoughts disappear in a green flash.