Author's Note: I don't know why I keep writing hg/rw. I don't ship it.

Round 11: Seasons

Team: Pride of Portree

Keeper's Prompt: Tragic story on an autumn night

Position: Keeper

Word Count: 1060 excluding Author's Note


Ten Miles Til Midnight

21.

She turned, surprised at the mist that had suddenly gathered behind her. The air had a sharp chill to it, promising a cold night. The rain beat a steady rhythm on the ground.

"Okay…" Hermione said, frowning at the curling tendrils of condensate. She drew her cloak tighter around her shoulders to ward off the wet. She peered ineffectively through the trees, trying to see past the thick fog. It surrounded her, cutting off the path she'd been on.

A bird cry startled her, and she looked up automatically. The grey clouds stood out against the dark sky, framing the bright white of the full moon.

Hermione peered down at her watch. She looked back up at the moon.

"Hmm," she mumbled to herself, tapping her watch with a mild curiosity. "That's odd."

"Hermione?!" came Ron's panicked voice. He sounded far away; muffled. "Hermione!"

"Coming!" Hermione shouted back. Her voice didn't go anywhere; flattened by the thick air.

"Hermione, no!" Ron yelled again.

"Oh, honestly!" Hermione tutted. She rolled her shoulders, straightened her back, and walked into the mist.

Hermione Granger disappeared.

The rain stopped.

18.

"So how was your day?" Ron asked idly, flipping through The Daily Prophet.

"Oh Ron, you know I can't talk about anything regarding my work. That's why they call us 'Unspeakables'," Hermione huffed. She toyed with her pasta, her fork leaving trails on the plate.

Ron paused, staring at her for a long moment. Finally, he sighed and folded the paper, setting it gently down on the table. "Hermione," he said in a tired voice. "You haven't—"

5.

The whispers started in her dreams. Softly, at first. She'd be dreaming about Hogwarts, and she'd hear them. She'd be dreaming about her friends, and she'd hear them.

She'd be dreaming about work, and she'd hear them.

Then she started noticing them while she was awake. The first thing she did was have her ears checked.

The healer cleaned them with some sort of potion, and when that hadn't helped, he'd sent a little wriggling black thing into her ear.

Hermione tolerated it with the bad grace of someone raised Muggle, but it had been over quickly enough.

"Something's definitely strange," the healer said, examining the goo the black thing had melted into. "Not quite magic residue, but something, maybe. Have you been cursed recently?"

"Not that I know of," Hermione replied primly.

"Just a thought. It doesn't look much like a curse anyway." The healer scratched his chin consideringly. "It doesn't seem to be dangerous, whatever it is. It's possible it'll go away on its own. Come back if it gets worse though, alright?"

Hermione didn't.

14.

It was raining now. It was always raining, it seemed. It never snowed, even though the nights were getting long and there was a frost on the ground every morning. The cold had seeped into the house even, into her very bones. The trees outside were bare, devoid of the leaves they'd worked so hard to grow. They rose like shadows against the bright blue sky.

"Are you alright?" Ron asked her, his expression tight with worry.

"Hmm?" Hermione said distractedly. "Oh, yes, of course, Ron."

"Have you had breakfast yet?" He hovered around her, wringing his hands uncertainly.

Hermione stared out the window. It was foggy out, too. Fog and rain. What a treat of a day it would be.

"Hermione? Have you had breakfast yet?" Ron asked her. He reached out to touch her, but drew back at the last second.

"I had some blueberries." Hermione wasn't hungry. The windowsill was hard under her hand; the new paint still somewhat tacky.

"You finished the blueberries yesterday," Ron whispered.

"Oh, sorry, did you want some?" The sunlight streamed in through the window, but Hermione couldn't feel the warmth on her hands.

Outside, it was raining.

3.

"It's about Miss Granger's most recent psych evaluation," the man said, holding a folder in front of his chest like a shield.

"What about it?" Ron asked. Dread grew in the pit of his stomach.

"We noticed some irregularities—"

"What does that mean?" Ron demanded, his voice rising in a panicked anger.

"Mister Weasley, please—"

"Come off it, Reggie! This is Hermione we're talking about. I know she hasn't been— Please, just tell me what's wrong," Ron begged.

Reggie hesitated. "We're not actually sure, Ron," he admitted quietly. "Some sort of accident or something. It's like nothing we've ever seen before."

6.

Hermione wrapped the blanket tighter around herself. She'd been freezing lately, for some reason. Even right next to the fire, she could still feel the chill in her bones. It felt like she'd never be warm ever again.

"Can you turn the heat up?" Hermione called to Ron, who was sitting on the sofa as far away from the fire as he could. He was sprawled out, wearing shorts and a thin t-shirt.

"It's all the way up, Hermione," he said concernedly. "Are you alright?"

"I must be getting sick or something," she said, frowning at the flames.

"Well, it is flu season," Ron noted weakly. He didn't sound convinced.

Hermione didn't notice.

19.

"—been to the DoM in weeks."

1.

It was wrong of her, she knew that. There were supposed to be two of them in the room at all times. But Davidsohn had stepped out to use the loo, and really, she just wanted to try one quick thing…

So she'd approached the veil, wand out to try the new analysis charm she crafted (and that was it, she promised!), when she saw it. Something glimmering, just beyond the curtain.

She hadn't been able to help herself. She'd leaned closer, to get a better look—

The evacuation alarm went off, startling Hermione. She fell forward, catching herself on the sides of the archway. It was the non-emergency alarm, which meant they probably weren't about to die or anything, but they were expected to put their experiments into stasis and evacuate as quickly as possible nonetheless.

Hermione huffed, and turned away from the veil. She didn't notice the way her hand, for a moment, brushed the curtain— and went through.

Hermione walked out of the room, the veil's curtain rippling excitedly behind her.

22.

Later, people would say that Hermione Granger died on the 24th of November. They were wrong.

She'd already been dead for weeks.