Chapter 4: Up in Flames
Keeping on the outside
Glimmer in the moonlight
Only shadows there dwell we are
Creeping on the edge of the dark
We feel warmth in the cold corners
Eyes in the back of our heads
We roll out when the day's over
Chasing silhouettes
- Ruelle (Up in Flames)
The night was in its mid-life. Thick, cloud-like fog obscured the paths. Towering trees were the darkest of evergreen. The leaves rustled with the steady whistle of the wind.
Looming above her was the moon, in all its glowing magnificence. It looked so big and so near, as if she could touch it.
Suddenly, the peaceful image ripped itself like a theatre background.
Then… there was the howling.
Hermione ran as fast as she could. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, making her legs feel like automatons running on fuel. She didn't stop. Neville was lost and she had to find him.
"Neville!" she shouted into nothing.
It was all a shifty blur. There were no definite turns in sight. Only the dark green and brown from the trees, and silver from the moonlight.
"Neville, where are you?" she called again. There was nothing but her feet barely grazing the ground for a second. She was running that fast.
Growls found her and she made the mistake of looking back. Four werewolves followed her trail. It was a miracle she could even outrun one of them at all.
Hermione tripped on one of the fallen tree branches, hitting her shin. The pain felt like an ant's nip. The adrenaline in her system made her invincible, if only for a moment.
They caught up to her. One of them clawed the back of her coat. Her back hit a tree trunk squarely as that werewolf spun her coat around. It was about to advance on her, and she screamed as loud her lungs allowed.
She spotted something silver. At first, she thought it was the moonlight. Then it howled. It was a great wolf with fur so white it looked platinum. It bared its teeth at the attacking werewolves, shielding her from their view.
He collided with them head-on with lightning speed. Its eyes were a chilling shade of violet, smart and alert. It looked at Hermione and pointed its head to another direction, away from the feral creatures, before it resumed fighting off the others.
Then she ran.
That was the first time she dreamt of that mysterious wolf. It wasn't the only time, either.
Hermione woke up to the sticky feeling of wet sheets. Her hair clung to her forehead. Cold sweat covered her body, occasionally dripping from her skin.
The pinkish glow of the breaking dawn punctured her bedroom window. She'd forgotten to draw the drapes when she slept. The sight of something as constant as the night stars made sleeping easier. Especially in a foreign place meant as her gilded cage.
So that was what happened that night? It seemed too real to exist only in a dream. Together, she and Neville tried to piece together what had happened that fateful night. But whatever they did, or forced themselves to do, there were still missing pieces in the puzzle.
She took a deep breath and finger-combed her sweat-dampened hair. A grimace passed her face when she had to smooth out the rough tangles. Extracting herself from the sheets, she dangled her feet over the side of the bed. The cool air circulating around the room made her shiver.
Hermione tiptoed down the hall. The morning light was slowly shining upward as the sun rose steadily. Like a sundial for the inhabitants of the house. She used to get lost in these halls, but as time passed it became easier and easier to recognize one place from another and navigate through them.
Time, in this valley, seemed to pass at its own pace, depending on the weather. It rained for three consecutive days once and it felt like months instead of mere days. Then there were times days fast-forwarded into hours. It was as if this part of the valley lived all on its own. Detached and secluded from the outside world.
Silverwood Mansion, as Presto called the house once, had terrific architecture, gorgeous gardens, and a serene atmosphere. It was a pity she saw it under harsh circumstances involving a self-serving, Pureblood elitist.
She reached Neville's quarters, lost in her thoughts. She knocked on the door. It opened slowly after a few moments. Neville poked his head out from behind the dark wood.
"Neville, how are you feeling today?" she asked with a sad smile on her face.
"I'm fine," Neville replied with a yawn. He looked better than he had two weeks ago. Healthier. He had a messy bed-head and his eyes were rimmed with sleep.
"Look, Hermione." He scanned the hallway warily from both sides, and leaned forward. "Can we talk?" he asked, whispering as he did so.
"Of course."
Hermione entered the room. There were empty vials of his insulin potion on the side table. They both sat on the edge of the bed, uncertain how to broach the subject.
"Hermione, do you remember more of what happened that night two weeks ago?"
She wasn't sure how to answer. There was a dream, a very vivid dream. But it begged the question: Was it even true?
"I don't know, Neville. All I remember was the wolf. I remember that I forced you to come here and see the werewolves. I remember regretting it immensely," Hermione admitted ruefully, head bowed down.
Neville bumped her slightly. "Cheer up, old girl. I don't blame you," he said, his expression soft. "I blame him." When he mentioned their captor his gentle brown eyes hardened. More than Hermione thought possible for Neville Longbottom.
"Speaking of him, did he ever mention anything to you? Clues? Anything we can link to him?"
She thought long and hard. Yet there was nothing. The Master covered his tracks very well. No clues betraying his identity. He kept to himself, took his meals in his quarters, and barely came out. He truly was a recluse. Whenever she rooted around for traces, Presto was always on her back.
The elf was sweet, yet he was also extremely loyal. He would tattle to his Master if he ever saw something odd. And sometimes, she thought he anticipated what her next move would be. He was smart and observant in that way.
"Nothing, Neville, I promise. He did say in his conditions that you must be obliviated. And we both know he'll hog the honors."
"You must do it, Hermione. I don't trust him. If I have to give anyone the permission to tamper with my mind, it might as well be you." Neville looked at her with those puppy-dog eyes and she couldn't resist. It was the least she could do for a friend who sacrificed and suffered a great deal because of her.
"I will, I promise," she smirked. "Just say to that masked fool that if I'm not the one to erase your memories, you'll stay until the Wizard's Debt is paid. He'll like that."
Neville laughed. Not his belly laugh, though. This one was forced and was only meant to enliven their downtrodden spirits.
"I'm really sorry, Neville." Her eyes were glassy, and her voice cracked.
He wrapped his arm around her shoulders while she leaned on his chest. "I'm sorry too, old girl. You took my debt just to free me from this place. What more could I ever ask of you? I won't be of any use finding you if my memories are erased. Leaving you here feels like a promise me one thing, Hermione." He met her eyes with his pleading ones. "If he ever hurts you, don't hesitate to kick his arse."
She gave him a watery smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I will, don't worry. He messed with the wrong witch."
"Indeed," he agreed.
—•—•—•—
Three people held hands, forming a circle. One was cloaked and masked. The second was tall and obviously muscular. The last one was short with curly brown hair and a petite form.
"Ready, Granger? Longbottom?" the Master asked.
They replied with curt nods.
"Granger, you say the rite: 'With the life of the earth, the heat of the sun, the light of the moon, I, Hermione Granger, take Neville Longbottom's debt as my own.'"
"You, Longbottom."
Neville eyed him with revulsion and disgust.
"You say, 'With the life of the earth, heat of the sun, the light of the moon, I, Neville Longbottom, accept Hermione Granger's offer to transfer my debt to her."
Hermione repeated their captor's words. "With the life of the earth, the heat of the sun, the light of the moon, I, Hermione Granger, take Neville Longbottom's Debt as my own."
The wind whistled a high-pitched tune, followed by blasted breaths. wine-like gossamer webs wrapped around their joined hands.
Neville hesitated saying the rites. "With the life of the earth, heat of the sun, the light of the moon, I, Neville Longbottom, accept Hermione Granger's offer to transfer my Debt to her."
"So mote it be," the masked man said in a deep, concentrated voice.
The magic zipped through their hands and into their skin, seeping into their veins. Hermione felt the bond shackling her to her kidnapper even more.
"Here." the Master shoved something into Neville's hand. "That's a portkey. It will activate in a few minutes."
He was about to raise his wand to cast the memory charm.
"Wait," Hermione interrupted. "I'll do the memory charm." She glared at him, challenging him to deny her request.
"I don't think so, Granger—"
"You can't muck up a memory charm! If you do, the person might go insane. I wouldn't want that to happen to Neville, now would I?" she asked exasperatedly.
He stared at her with caution. "You can't just use my wand. It's not bound to you."
"Just give it here," she prodded.
They both eyed the other with unwavering hostility.
"Don't blame me if you mess up his mind." He handed her the wand, sparking on its end when it touched her fingers.
Hermione took a deep breath. The Master, on the other hand, held his own breath. To her, it was his hawthorn wand, yet it felt and performed like her own vine wand.
She had the passing fancy to point the wand at the Master and inflict some kind of pain on him. But it would be unwise to tamper with ancient magic. She didn't know all that much about how it worked. She might end up dead.
Hermione might be brave, but she was not stupid.
"Obliviate."
The wand emitted a jet of blue light, penetrating Neville's mind. She erased the memories when they came to the forest, their time in this hidden abode together. She pushed to the forefront of his mind the memories of them doing their research. All the fun times they had.
She cast the charm so precisely, she could practically feel all the sounds, sensations, and images of the past two weeks flush out of his system. Abstract feelings such as pain, anger, fear - all those things in between - were erased as well.
Neville's eyes turned blank and confused. He opened his mouth, like he was about to speak. But before his voice could vibrate through the air, he had disappeared. The portkey in his hands finally activated.
The Master grabbed the wand from her grip harder than necessary. His cloak danced with the wind's fading breath. The shadows played in the background, making him appear formidable as he headed towards Silverwood Mansion in steady strides.
He left her to her own devices, so he could hide again in the confines of his rooms.
Revised:1-28-18.A big thanks to my alphas and betas(same people). Big shout out to Dorothy (dorothymalfoy) for the song rec! So what do you guys think? (I accept everything.)
