A/N - And we're back with Hermione's struggles. Enjoy the new chapter, everyone!
Hermione crept out of the room she spent most of her time in the past several days, sweat trickling down her forehead. The musty stench of the corridor enveloped her senses and she tried hard not to cough. The house smelled like pure death. She peered down the dim corridor warily, watching for fleeting shadows and listening for signs of life.
Ever since she was brought to this shabby abode, she didn't have the chance to attempt to escape. Liam always seemed to loom out of the shadows, watching her every move, her every breath. The only time he let her out was for the loo, and even then he escorted her there and back. She was treated like a petty prisoner, and to him, was she anything but?
Still, he treated her fairly well. He gave her food, and clothes to wear. At first she denied them, but hunger and her feeling of grubbiness overpowered her stubbornness. The clothes were simple – today, she was wearing brown corduroys and a light green sweater. Upon asking whose they were, he simply explained it was his sister's outgrown clothes.
Today was the first attempt. She was sick of sitting in the bright little room, meant to make her feel 'comfortable', but she felt the life drain from her at every minute that trickled past. Hermione tried reading the Muggle books in the room, most of them Victorian age novels or biographies of various people in history. She felt at home when she read, but as soon as the story was over, she realized where she was again.
Now, she had finished all thirty six books.
Hermione took another step into the corridor, gulping hard.
"Liam?" she breathed into the gloom.
Nothing.
"I-I have to go to the loo..."
Silence.
Hermione breathed in, then took no chances and dashed down the corridor. She took a left turn, passing the kitchen – the newspaper with Holly's article was gone – and found the front door. Her heart beat quickened and she nearly tripped over a pile of untouched mail and newspapers in her haste.
She whipped her head around, making sure Liam was truly gone, and then flew for the rusted knob of the tall, wooden door. Hermione yanked the door open, feeling the cold January wind rush past her and took a blind step forward, beyond the doorway. Free.
Suddenly, a sharp current passed through her body and she froze, mid-step. She felt like every nerve in her body was being licked by an electric jolt. Her eyes grew wide, like a deer caught in headlights. The pain Hermione experienced heightened and an invisible force threw her back into the corridor in an arc. She slammed into the ground with a yelp, her body convulsing and jerking.
Her mind spun as she lay there, the pain becoming a dull memory. Minutes later, the feeling gradually returned to her limbs and she propped herself up on her elbows, her body throbbing. She shook, staring at the doorway in front of her. The door was still open, creaking slightly against the wind. She dragged herself forward until she was right by the door, but not close enough to get shocked again.
Hermione looked out into the house's front yard, covered in about a metre of snow. Beyond that, she saw a thin road that snaked upwards in between two short hills to the left – she could make out the edge of a grand house in the distance hiding behind some evergreens. To the right, the road went downwards – several other shabby houses dotted the end of the bleak street.
Movement caught Hermione's eye and she turned; a thin woman wrapped in a woolen scarlett scarf passed the house slowly, rolling a little cart with groceries. She didn't even glance at the Woodsworth house.
"Excuse me!" Hermione shouted, her voice croaky. "Hello! HELP ME!"
The woman didn't offer her a glance and continued up the road slowly. Hermione wiped a teardrop from her face and struggled up to her feet, her body still aching. Magic was at work here. The woman couldn't see the house, or saw it as something else. Why else did she ignore her? Liam had also blocked the exit with a defense – it was probably at work on all the windows too. The boy was much too clever to doubt.
She looked out into the outside world for a moment more, longing in her heart, before closing the door and turning back into the corridor reluctantly.
Hermione went into the kitchen and poured some water from the tap into a cup, her hand shaky. A fan above her spun unsteadily, and she wrinkled her nose at the dirtiness of the room. How could he live in such a disgusting space?
She downed the water and threw the cup on top of the pile of dishes, resulting in a large clang. Liam was definitely not in the house. Hermione walked out of the kitchen to think, unable to handle the reek. Where had he gone today? Back to Hogwarts? He couldn't have – he was gone for a week, surely he's being hunted down. Or so she hoped. She shook the unnerving thought from her head.
A flight of rickety looking stairs she didn't notice earlier stood outside the kitchen – Hermione peered up at the second floor. It was a tiny landing with three doors on each wall. She looked down the hall at her own little room, mind whirling – perhaps a bit of snooping was in order. She had to take advantage of the time he was gone.
Hermione grabbed the railing and started to climb, each step causing a long, loud creak. Once on the landing, she let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding in – maybe because she thought the unstable stairs would collapse under her.
Hermione opened the door directly in front of her – another, grimy toilet. She closed it quickly before she inhaled the fumes.
Two more doors. She tried the one on the left – locked. Hermione frowned, disappointed. Liam's own room, she supposed.
That left one more door. Hermione turned the knob, pleased to find it unlocked and pushed it open slowly.
She groped the wall, and turned on the switch, letting light flood into the room. This room, surprisingly enough, was clean. Dust layered the pictures hanging on the wall, as well as the beauty cabinet, but otherwise, it was clean. A large bed sat in the middle of the room, looking cold and untouched, as if no one had slept in it in ages. Thick, green drapes covered the windows, but a tiny sliver of light cut across the room, illuminating the dust particles.
Hermione looked at the photos on the wall – they were family portraits. She took her sleeve and wiped the dust off each one as she examined them. The first one had a little baby in a crib, wrapped tightly in a blue blanket dotted with gold stars. The child's dark green eyes stared at her, happy and oblivious.
The next picture had a bespeckled woman with short, blonde hair and a pointed face leaning against a tall, burly man with a scruffy dark beard. In between them, a small boy smiled, neat hair combed to the side and eyes bright with curiosity. He couldn't have been older than four.
The pictures continued on across the wall, a timeline of Liam's life – his first day of school, his first tooth lost, a shot of him kicking a football. He wore his Hogwarts robes in his last picture, holding his new wand high proudly. The photographs ended there, like his life had stopped abruptly. The edge of a cliff.
Hermione stepped back. Something seemed wrong. She studied the photos again of the happy boy and his parents and it struck her like a train – where was his sister? None of the photos included a girl. Liam looked like the perfect child, the perfect only child...
She brushed her mane of hair back nervously. There were probably other pictures somewhere in the house, in an album... maybe he was the favoured child.
She opened the drawers of the cupboard next to the bed, and found nothing but outdated bills and cards. The closet was half full with woman's clothes, just as untouched as the bed. The other half was empty.
Just as she stepped back, ready to return to her room, she heard someone clear their throat behind her. Hermione froze, feeling like an icy bucket of water was drenched over her. She gulped hard, her throat thick, and turned slowly on her heel, dreading what she would see.
Liam stood stiffly by the door frame – his face was drained of emotion except for his eyes; they were bright with fury, like a violent windstorm in hell.
Voilà!
Don't forget to review! The greater the desire for an update, the quicker I write to satisfy it!