Chapter Nine
Simply Neurotic
Her majesty of horror
Things were unusually calm. The sky was painted a faint oceanic blue, as the sun sunk below the horizon, and the world seemed to be coaxing along on auto pilot.
Silent, and eerie.
There was no wind to rustle the leaves that lined the streets below, and there were no clouds in the sky – no birds in the air.
Rita Skeeter pursed her lips and tapped her nails against the surface of her desk.
She could feel something brewing. She knew there was something at work in the early evening, but she didn't know what.
And that, was what bothered her.
She craved being on the inside. She desired information – news. She was a master of her craft, and knew how to carve words and images into marketable, engrossing stories. Front page material.
So she was perturbed, as she sat at her desk at the Daily Prophet, looking out her window. It had been two days since she had met Hermione at the Leaky Cauldron. Two days since she had devised the story about her and Draco Malfoy. The article had made the front page, naturally, and Rita was still dealing with the overflow of accusatory – and celebratory – owls she'd received. It had been two days since she last saw the younger witch, which normally wouldn't have bothered her.
But now it was Friday. And Friday was the day. Like clockwork, Hermione would arrive at Rita's office at four p.m., and dictate an article to her. A sort of inspirational piece that reassured the public that everything was going swimmingly, and that there was no reason to fear.
An update status.
A morale booster.
And the only times when Hermione didn't show, were the times when Rita knew to look to the skies, and search out the answer in the form of dark shapes and shifting clouds.
She glared at the enchanted clock on the wall opposite her, as it mechanically chimed six p.m.
Her icy blue eyes glanced apprehensively to the darkening skies outside.
It was never a good sign – Hermione's absence. But for some reason, she feared it this time even more. Something was brewing, she could feel it.
Her mother had once said, that a person can only take so much before they break. Can only be pushed to the edge so many times, before they come to welcome the fall.
She had yet to decide if this was that moment for her.
Hermione gasped out, her breaths tearing painfully through her chest. Her feet pounded against the pavement of the street, echoing loudly in the still night.
The tears had dried on her face, but her eyes were still red and angry. Her mind confused and tortured.
The small town offered no direction for her, and she began to wonder if she were running in circles. The frustration and desperation was welling up inside of her as each building and street name looked the same as the previous one.
No sound reached her except for the rumble of the force that was closing in on her, and the unsteady beat of her heart, struggling to maintain control in her chest.
A painful collision with a steel garden gate left her head aching and her thoughts disjointed and clouded, causing her to react on instinct rather than intellect. Something she had luckily become adept at over the years.
And it was as though the world had gone silent. The wind was dead and the stars were muted – hiding from the threat that pursued her. The carriers of destruction.
Her lungs burned and she felt the expectant silence of the night. Watching her – knowing as she did, that she had lost. There was nothing left for her. Nowhere to go, and no one left to fight for.
She paused long enough to glance over her shoulder, but knew instantly it was a mistake. The face of death was fast approaching.
She felt the heat of a spell as it flew passed her, searing and too bright for her eyes as the red light collided violently with the corner of the building she had been approaching, and it shattered as though it were merely papier-mâché. Not changing her pace, she blindly leapt over the rubble and ruin of the wall, stumbling unsteadily as she landed clear of it on the other side.
She didn't know where she was going – only that she needed to put some distance between herself and the league of Death Eaters behind her.
It seemed as though more were joining in the chase, and it would only be a matter of time before she was completely and utterly without hope.
The distant howling of the forlorn creature she caught a glimpse of earlier was shockingly close now – ringing through her, and urging her to push forward.
Hermione cast a quick look up towards the dark sky that couldn't conceal the black streak that ran across it, high above her head. The moon was hidden behind some clouds, subdued, yet powerful enough to shine beyond its confinement.
But it wasn't a full moon, and that thought alone gave her some amount of comfort. Some amount of calm amidst the raging emotions.
Her eyes darted forward and locked on her new destination. The dense forest ahead of her was foreboding and seemed to urge her away – but it was the lesser of two evils, and her only chance.
A shattering howl rang through her once more – she could feel it in her soul, could feel it reaching inside of her, tearing at her. The feeling of hopelessness ate at her – but she was a survivor, she wouldn't go down that easily. She used the burning in her throat, and the pain in her legs to remind her of what it was to fight. What it was to persevere. What it was to live.
Besides, it wasn't just her existence she was fighting for right now – she was a lifeline for so many other people. She owed it to them to fight to the end.
The crunch of the grass under her feet was appallingly loud as she broke free of the confines of the small town, and entered into the meadow that was the last barrier between her and some sort of protection.
There was a distant roar that was building all around her, breaking the silence of the night, and she pushed on harder. She wondered briefly how the night was going to end, and where it would find her. But the idea of contemplating anything beyond this moment was absurd.
The streak that had flown distantly over her moments ago, was joined by more of its kind, and was forming an arc over her – twisting and turning into one another, converging into a blanket of darkness and terror, blocking out the sky and the captive moon.
The roar of power was no longer ignorable, and she jolted as spells flew passed her, narrowly missing. Their intensity and frequency brought her out of her reverie. She needed to stay focused. She needed to stay alive.
The meadow offered no protection from their onslaught, but all she could do was hope to make it to the forest before one of their attempts were successful.
She urged her body on further, but didn't have the time to feel relieved as she flew passed the first trees of the woods.
The roar was upon her, and the dark shapes in the sky descended upon the forest ahead of her with a fierce, destructive power. The ground shook and dirt and debris flew through the air at the impact, making the trees sway and tremble from the force of it.
She could feel the heat of the explosion wash over her, whipping her hair into her face and scorching the forest that surrounded the impact – leaving it charred and ruined.
With a quick twist of her body, she changed directions, and darted through the forest laterally, running along the edge of its shelter, still in plain sight of her attackers from the city.
Her heart skipped a beat as a shrill laugh pierced the night, transcending the commotion of the newly arrived Death Eaters. And she understood exactly what it meant. They were here, and desperate to have her. So desperate in fact, that they'd send Bellatrix Lestrange into the fray.
And if she was here, who else was amongst the hordes of deathly monsters? Was he here?
Would the Dark Lord himself risk the exposure by entering into the chase?
Her legs protested under her as she pushed forward, dodging and jolting between trees, their limbs reaching out and tearing at her in the process. But she wasn't concerned with that, there was much more hanging in the balance than the pain of a few scratches.
There was a pain of a different caliber awaiting her if she couldn't manage to escape. A pain that required time, and patience. Tearing and pulling, carving and burning.
The hair on the back of her neck rose on end, commanding her attention, and she jerked her head to the right. Looking out across the meadow, she heard the low howl of a creature, subconsciously knowing exactly what it was.
Sprinting through the meadow towards her was the terrifying form of Fenrir Greyback, his yellow eyes locked on hers, his lips peeled back in a fierce snarl. His expression was one of determination and unbridled ferocity.
Without second thought, she darted back in towards the forest, running deeper and deeper into the depths and denseness of the trees.
She ran with a new urgency, now. To her mind, there were few fates worse than falling into the hands of that malicious werewolf. Full moon or not, he enjoyed feasting on human flesh. Savored the taste of blood and fear. He was a more than willing participant in Voldemort's bloody crusade.
There were no illusions now, they meant to take her, at any means necessary.
And the idea that his Dark Lord had let him loose on this night, showed her exactly the depths he was willing to go, to have her under his control. He would spare no resources to have her.
She felt a change in the air – it was as though she had crossed a boundary she didn't know existed, and the forest seemed to be humming with life. But there was no time to hesitate or to contemplate the shift. She had little time for anything beyond breathing and moving faster.
She glanced over her shoulder, as she heard an explosion not far behind. The red sparks dancing in the dark night sky showed her exactly how close they were to claiming her.
They were converging on her from all sides, and she knew it was only a matter of time before they fell upon her.
She pushed harder. And harder.
Her only thoughts were those of regret – how she hadn't been strong enough, hadn't been smart enough. It was her fault, and everyone she loved was likely dead.
But the worst part was not knowing. Not being able to know for certain how everyone was. Where everyone was.
She cried out in frustration through her gasps for air.
Apparation was impossible in the city, they had put wards up against it – but that type of magic could only reach so far. She had to keep going – keep pushing until their magic could reach no further.
The forest was becoming denser and darker, and the trees seemed to sense her urgency. Seemed to know that her escape into their depths was her only chance at survival. They appeared to sway and move out of her way, before closing behind her – forming a blockade.
She picked up her pace once more as she heard the distant explosions of the Death Eaters pursuing her. They seemed to be falling farther behind, and their frustration was palpable.
She allowed a small seed of hope to be planted in her chest. But she should have known better.
Her foot caught in a twisted root of an ancient tree and she fell awkwardly onto the moss covered ground. She tried to catch her breath, and listened unsteadily to the disruptions that rippled through the night's air.
She twisted her foot angrily and felt the fear rise as she found herself stuck. The tree seemed unwilling to release her, and she glared at the thick, powerful roots that seemed to pulse with life and hidden energy. She gripped her wand, ready to use whatever means necessary to make the tree let her go, when a noise sounded off in the distance to the right.
A twig cracking, and a scratching sound against the bark of a tree.
Her head snapped up suddenly, and she tried to calm her breathing. There was something out there. Something powerful.
It pulsed with a different sort of energy, disrupting the flow of the forest. Tainting it with its insidious thoughts.
Her foot suddenly sprang free, and she stood unsteadily, casting anxious looks around the area, and gripping her wand tightly. She narrowed her eyes into the darkness that surrounded her, and she quickly backed away from the small clearing just ahead.
There was something warning her away from it.
The hairs on the back of her neck bristled, and she crouched behind the ancient tree she had tripped over, covering her mouth with one hand to subdue her erratic breathing.
There was a rustle of leaves, suddenly, as the wind ran through the area, and the heaving form of Fenrir Greyback came bursting through the trees opposite her.
Exactly where she might have been if she hadn't fallen.
His breath was coming out in quick, labored heaves and his eyes were narrowed as he surveyed the area. He threw back his head and began smelling the air around him, his fingers twitching in anticipation, and the excitement rippling through him.
She held her breath as another soft breeze blew through the forest, causing the werewolf to tense and smile hideously.
Hermione tensed as well, and gripped the tree that she was behind, preparing herself for the attack that was sure to follow. The leaves offered her little protection from being seen, but she couldn't look away. Her eyes were glued to the beast in front of her, and she frowned when his head whipped in the opposite direction, his body quick to follow the scent that he seemed to have picked up.
She stood, silent and unsure for a few moments, wondering if he was perhaps playing with her. She knew it was a definite possibility.
She had heard the stories, knew how much he enjoyed the game. How much he reveled in playing with his food, before tearing them apart. He didn't need a full moon to devastate lives. She knew that all too well.
So she paused, as she took a step from behind the tree, and listened. She calculated the odds that he was lurking not far, waiting for her to start running again.
But either way, she really didn't have any more options.
There was a force approaching, its magic undeniable, and she knew that she had little time to decide.
Concentrating on a location, she stilled her breathing, and tried desperately to apparate.
The attempt only added to her frustration as she realized she still couldn't leave the area.
She needed to keep going.
Pursing her lips, she took a few tentative steps into the small clearing ahead of her, glancing around apprehensively.
Her slow, small steps began to quicken their pace, and soon she was throwing her body forward once more, trying to widen the gap between herself and those that wanted nothing more than to destroy her.
She had no direction, but knew she needed to get out of range of the wards on the town before she stood a chance of escaping.
She barreled through the trees, allowing the forest to guide her into its depths. And she focused instead on the sound of the forest, allowed her mind to hone in on the subtle tone and fluency of it.
Her mind calmed, her emotions in check. Her thoughts became clear and decisive, and she knew that she had to make it out of this alive. Needed to get word to someone. Anyone.
She could hear it now, the whispers and murmuring of the ancient trees. It seemed to be carried to her on the wind that was sweeping through the forest. It was in a language she didn't know, but understood nonetheless.
It was fighting for her. Fighting with her.
And the fact that she was no longer alone, comforted her beyond reason.
So when the soft whispers stopped suddenly, so did she.
The log came out of nowhere, and hit her squarely in the chest.
Her body collided painfully with the truck of a tree, and it groaned underneath her.
She crashed down onto her hands and knees grasping her midsection. The log had knocked the breath out of her completely, and she gasped painfully to fill her aching lungs.
The sound of something scratching the bark of a tree, repeatedly, gouging out chunks of the brittle surface grated irritatingly in the back of her mind.
Her eyes focused on the moss covered floor, and the blood began to pool in front of her. The wound on the back of her head had re-opened and bled profusely as she struggled to maintain consciousness.
The world seemed to sway in front of her, and suddenly, she felt weightless.
The crazed yellow irises of his eyes locked on her face, traveling the path that the blood had born on her neck and shoulders, as he held her at arm's length.
Fenrir seemed to vibrate, as he held the front of her blouse in his clawed hand.
She gaped up at him, finally sucking in a mouthful of air, but finding it stale and putrid. The werewolf exhaled heavily into her face, and she wanted to gag at the mixture of rotten meat and stale earth that he projected onto her.
The beast looked her over hastily, and jerked her towards him, sniffing her hair and neck loudly.
There was a loud explosion that sounded off not far from them, and they both seemed to sense what it meant.
He snarled into her face suddenly, and lowered his mouth to her neck slowly, dramatically.
She tensed, coming to her senses, and jerked away from him violently. She aimed a kick for his groin, but earned a sickening slap across her face instead.
He shoved her away from him, and she stumbled to the ground awkwardly. Her hand flew up to her face to touch the newly inflicted wound. Her fingers came away from her cheek, horrified at the amount of blood that was there.
She jerked her gaze back up to Fenrir, and felt her stomach turn as he licked the blood from his clawed hand. His expression did nothing to hide the pleasure that he took from the action, his eyes rolling into the back of his head and his body tensing and vibrating all at once.
He laughed at the expression on her face, a portrait of terror and disgust.
"Fresh meat," he began briskly, "always satisfies."
Hermione began to clamber backwards on her elbows, but he simply laughed, a low howl that tore through her and he jumped through the air to land crouched over her.
She couldn't even attempt to feign bravery, as he brought a giant hand down upon her neck, and lip quivering, he trailed it down to her chest, cupping her breast roughly, growling in the back of his throat.
An instinctive repulsion caused her to thrash under him with all her might. Being a muggleborn witch, she had always thought she was safe from certain violations at the hands of pureblood fanatics who wouldn't dare taint themselves with her dirty blood – but a beast like Fenrir, who only fought in the name of power and violence, seemingly didn't care about her blood status.
A vicious backhand to her face sent her head crashing back down upon the heavy roots that lined the forest floor.
Her vision blacked out for a moment, and she saw Theodore Nott, standing before her in the darkest pit of her subconscious. A place she refused to go. Harry was laying there in the foreground, covered in blood and staring blankly at her. Her vision was covered in a pulse of blinding light, as she fought against the images her mind was tearing up from the recesses and exposing. Her deepest fears comingled with her most private desires: her darkest thoughts.
The canopy of leaves was visible above her now, and she struggled against the sinking sensation that was tearing through her, threatening to drown her.
Fenrir brought his head down to her throat and she jerked and struggled to regain control of her body. His tongue darted out of his mouth and followed her neck the length of her collarbone to her ear, feeling like sandpaper against her skin.
A growl sounded in her ear, low and dangerous. His head buried into her hair once more, and he inhaled heavily along her neck, his path leading lower.
Her head lolled back and forth and black dots danced across her vision as she struggled to regain full consciousness, but feeling the persistent pressure of something pressing against her abdomen, she lurched forward.
Fenrir inhaled deeply as his head rested at the apex of her thighs, and she struck out at him with blind fury.
He didn't seem to be bothered by her, and his hands, soiled with her blood, began to tear and snatch at her clothing violently, no longer able to hold back his beastly desires.
She punched and kicked at him desperately, until it became clear that he would be undeterred. Screaming in fury one last time, she struck out at him, aiming for his eyes.
He seemed mildly dazed by it, and turned his crazed gaze upon her suddenly.
He brought his fist back swiftly, his fingers extended, and his claws pointed towards her throat. Nostrils flared, he smiled animalistically at her, his fangs bared and gleaming.
She met his wild, unfocused gaze and allowed herself to smile in that instant. Time was suspended, and all that remained was her broken, battered body, and the demented beast that was focused solely on her.
His gaze widened for a moment, his expression a mixture of confusion and anger, before he was whisked off of her entirely, and drug by an unseen force into the darkness of the forest.
She stared blankly at the spot he had disappeared through, and her mind was especially sluggish, suspended in disbelief.
There was movement all around her, which caught her attention at last, and she looked up to the trees above her which swayed and rustled and shuddered, almost violently.
In the distance, she could hear the howls and incoherent rants of Fenrir, but she could also hear the approaching Death Eaters, not far from her now.
She staggered over to her wand that lay on a pile of fallen leaves, and gripped it unsteadily in her hand.
Turning to the largest tree beside her she pressed her hands together and leaned over slightly. "Thank you," she whispered.
Concentrating with all her effort, she would not be denied her escape.
And with a violently powerful crack she apparated away from the forest that had saved her, and the forces that had sought to destroy her.
The freezing water surged into her mouth and nose uncomfortably, and she feared she had pushed herself too far. Terrified that they would be able to follow her, she had apparated half a dozen times – each effort draining her of more and more energy.
But now, as she thrashed and fought to find the surface of the water she found herself in, her mind began to drift and the uncomfortable feeling in her chest and throat, escalated to uncontrollable pain. Panic began to set in.
She was going to die. The enchanted forest had saved her – only for her to drown herself not five minutes later.
Her hands came into contact with earth – with large, soft stones. Before she could react to what that might mean – she felt herself being dragged through the water. She didn't fight whoever it was, because she was dead if she stayed in the water much longer.
She was dragged across grass and pebbles that grated against her exposed wounds. Convulsed violently, her body trembling from the shock and cold, she coughed up the water that had made its way into her lungs.
A large hand pulled her hair out of her face and rubbed her back in a soothing gesture.
"Shh, it's okay. You're safe now. You're safe."
Hermione collapsed back onto her side, and struggled to keep her eyes open as she looked up into the face of her savior. Familiar, concerned green eyes made her choke back a sob of relief. She could feel herself fading fast.
And for once, sweet, merciful darkness was the only thing that awaited her on the other side.
"What?" Her voice was breathless and torn.
Harry simply watched her, sympathy etched into his features.
"I'm sorry 'Mione, but the decision has been made already. We can't take any risks with this. We've already lost too many people."
"Yes, I understand that, but that's why you need me. I'm away for two days and look at the state of things." She threw her arms up in the air, desperate to make him understand.
Harry pursed his lips and crossed his arms over his chest. He had known she wasn't going to be happy about the decision, but he knew she could see the reason behind it. The need for it.
He had healed the worst of her wounds and woken her up, hoping for some sort of explanation as to why she had shown up at the lake, bloodied and semi-unconscious, but he hadn't expected the words that spilled from her lips.
News that Fenrir Greyback was prowling around his home, accompanied by the likes of Bellatrix Lestrange, was an unsettling revelation. Another blow.
Hermione had insisted they head back to the headquarters, and organize an attack, so he was burdened with informing her of the Order's decision.
They had been betrayed by someone in their ranks. Sold out to the Death Eaters, and every precaution was being taken to ensure that the remaining members were kept safe.
Hermione's mission involving Malfoy, now became the factor that lead to her expulsion from the Order's raids. More importantly, it meant that she could not be allowed to know anything about the Order, outside of what she needed to finish her mission.
He took a deep, tense breath. "You know the Order doesn't blame you for what's happened, Hermione. You've done more for this cause than anyone."
His eyes pleaded with her to understand.
Hermione glared harshly at her best friend, but she knew that she couldn't take her anger out on him. He didn't want this anymore than she did.
The expression on his face told her everything that she needed to know.
They had lost a lot of ground in the past two days. In the time she had spent, blissfully unaware at Malfoy's, the world seemed to have turned on its side, and the war had taken a drastic turn for the worst.
Five. It seems like such a small number.
But when it's used in connection with death – when it's used to describe the amount of lives that are lost, the people that will never see the light of another day – five suddenly seems a lot more substantial. Five suddenly takes on a new meaning.
And so she recounted the news of the people they lost. The five people she had worked in close connection with, and the people she had trusted with her life.
Their ghosts would haunt her, just like the rest of them. She would never forget. She wouldn't allow herself to.
Her mind focused on the newest bit of information she had received. She mashed her teeth together harshly. She understood why they had come to the decision they had, but that didn't make it any easier to swallow. It didn't sting any less, or give her any sense of comfort.
She had panicked when she had apparated from the Malfoy Manor to find herself unable to get into contact with anyone. The places she trusted had apparation wards up against them, and both the headquarters and the Burrow had Confundus Charms in place.
Everywhere she looked, things appeared to be normal, which only compounded her frustration.
Finally, she was able to apparate to the edge of the small town that Harry lived in. The ward was set up against apparating to his house, but not to the surrounding areas, she found.
Walking through the eerily calm streets, she was struck with an urgency to get to his home.
Finding the front door open, her reason and sanity were torn apart when she saw the state of his house – bloodied and overturned.
The Death Eaters were on her almost instantly.
She quickly found that the Death Eaters had set up charms preventing apparating out of the town, effectively trapping her within its confines.
Then the chase had begun.
Her mind was still trying to process everything. She walked along the edge of the lake, and looked down at the angry pink marks that marred her arms, wondering briefly, how the rest of her body looked. Harry had done his best, but magic could only heal so much.
But soon they would fade. Just like all the other ones.
She looked up to find Harry watching her, a patient look on his face. The circles under his eyes told her that he hadn't slept in some time.
She turned her eyes towards the ground, guilt flooding her. She understood why they were cutting her off from the Order.
She disappears for two days into Malfoy Manor, and during that time, the mission that she drew up and plotted out went bad. Compromised.
But she also knew there were a lot of last minute changes to the plan to supplement her absence.
People were added to the mission, and details changed around.
So, as much as she hated the decision to cut her out of all future raids, she had to think about what was best for the rest of them. What was best for the cause.
But she was still repulsed by the thought that keeping her in the dark was the best solution. The missions had been what she lived for, for the past few years. They were what occupied her every waking hour. What provided her with some sense of usefulness.
So the resentment was there. The pain would never truly fade. She would be forced to pass information to the Order through Harry – or with Kingsley through the Ministry, if necessary.
Malfoy was to be her sole concern from now on. Her mission with him was of the utmost importance, and the information that she obtained through it, could turn the tide of the war.
She should have realized sooner though, that this was going to be the way things progressed. Doing this mission was going to require her full attention, and she should have realized that having her at the manor was a liability to the rest of the Order.
She knew entirely too much.
So, people were being moved as they spoke, and the headquarters was being relocated to somewhere more secluded – somewhere safe.
Harry had tried to reassure her that the changes weren't because of her, but because of the events of the last twenty-four hours. But she understood how her situation looked. She knew that there was suspicion. Understood that there was fear – even if they didn't want to voice it.
It was no secret that Malfoy was skilled in both Occlumency and Legimency.
It was only natural for them to at least consider he had used his abilities to gain information from her.
But she knew better. She hadn't felt his presence as she slept. He hadn't been in her subconscious.
That was something she knew to guard against – something she had experienced before.
She paced along the edge of the lake's bank. Thoughtful.
"Who did you say was added to the mission after I went to Malfoy's?" she asked, before pausing.
Her breaths were coming in smooth, even drags and her red rimmed eyes were narrowed in thought.
She was done crying. There would be a time to grieve for the people that had been lost. The people who had sacrificed everything for the cause they all believed in. But there was nothing that could be done about them. She understood that she needed to focus on doing what she could, for the people that remained. For the ones that were still alive.
She was full of vengeance, yes. There was no denying that. But her determination and sheer will were going to be the things that brought her through. Her hatred for their common enemy was surpassed by her love for her friends and family. And that was something they could never take from her. Her compassion overruled her hatred.
But right now, it was her determination to solve the problem at hand, that kept her mind focused and her emotions in control.
"Oliver Wood, Ernie Macmillan, Anthony Goldstein, and Viktor," he reported mechanically. "Out of those four, we lost Wood at the battle, and Anthony wasn't able to fight off the curse placed on him, so he died earlier this evening."
She nodded her head slowly. "And Pavarti?" she asked quietly, avoiding Harry's sullen expression.
He swallowed thickly. "She was killed in her home last night, while we were attempting the raid. Same with Justin Finch-Fletchley and Hannah Abbott."
She clenched her jaw tightly. She could still hardly believe they were all gone.
Things just weren't adding up properly. There was someone amongst them that was working for the other side. That was obvious. But she wondered if it was someone doing it willfully, or under the Imperius curse. Because that could be rooted out.
And she wondered who it would be – who would betray them. Until this moment, she had never doubted their bravery – their determination and devotion.
But now, that was tainted. And the suspicion was present. It was something that could threaten to tear them apart – if they allowed it to.
So her mind began to work through the list of people she knew. She began to pick them apart, piece by piece and her shrewd mind dissected their characters – their motivations.
She shook her head roughly.
She had no right to suspect anyone. She of all people had no right to look at others with an accusing gaze.
But she knew better. There were only so many people that knew the particulars of the mission. And even at that, the information was parceled out, so that only a limited few knew everything. The possibilities wound themselves around her, and she was lost for a moment in her thoughts.
There was movement out of the corner of her eye.
Her gaze was captured by the Patronus charm that floated towards them over the lake's smooth surface. It was in the form of a graceful feline, and Hermione immediately recognized it as McGonagall's.
Harry raised his wand, and the ethereal figure dove for the end of it, funneled into the wooden object with a resounding crack, and a flash of blinding white light.
Hermione brought up her arm to shield her eyes, and watched as Harry absorbed the message.
He seemed to come out of a daze, and his eyes focused on her face. "The Death Eaters are gone. The ward you said they put up preventing apparation out of the town appears to have been lifted."
She frowned. "And what about the ward preventing people from apparating to your home directly?"
"That was ours, but it's not necessary now. I'll be going to stay at the headquarters." His tone hinted at defeat, and she felt a pang of regret and guilt stab through her.
She grimaced. "I'll figure this out, Harry. I promise." She put a comforting hand on his arm, and he smiled weakly at her.
"But you aren't involved in it anymore, Hermione," he answered calmly.
She smiled at him ruefully. "You know that won't stop me." She wiped at her face suddenly, trying to erase the dried tears that had painted a path down her cheeks.
Harry sighed heavily, and Hermione felt the weight of his stare.
"I haven't even told you the best part yet," she alluded, before casting her forlorn gaze up to the star-studded sky.
He raised an eyebrow at her. "Oh?" he asked, feigning excitement.
She smirked suddenly, and turned her gaze back to him. "Theodore Nott was at the manor today."
He jerked as though he had been slapped, and a silence encased them. Hermione watched the rapid progression of emotions flutter over his features. Anger and resentment, as well as a growing fear. She could only assume the last one was for her benefit.
He brought one hand up to his face, and rubbed roughly. "Things just keep getting better and better, don't they?"
