Author's Note: I meant to post this one ages ago. Oops!

~Craft Rose

War inside my mind
Drowning in the tides
Fighting for my life
I'm satisfied
Intoxicate my veins
Make me misbehave
Be my great escape
Till we fade away

"Wild Ones" by Bahari

Hermione watched as tiny drops of rain rolled down her bedroom window, steered diagonal by the strong wind. It was days before the wedding, days before she was meant to leave home, leave her family. Some days, it was hard to look at them without succumbing to that ache in her chest, knowing in her core that those moments could very well have been their last together. Though she didn't tell them often enough, she appreciated their sacrifices and loved them dearly. They were the two hardest working people she had ever known, and with their guidance, she was able to build much the same work ethic and pave her own way in the wizarding world.

Simply put, they were heroes and she knew she might never live to see them again.

"Hermione?"

Recognizing the sound of her father's long strides before he so much as knocked on her door, she fixed her attention away from the window and found him with his favourite sport coat on and the tiniest bit of gray in his dark brown hair.

Hermione smiled, scooting on the window bench to give him room, as he neared. Judging by the look on his face, she sensed there was something on his mind, a matter he wanted to discuss. She was close to both parents, but in different ways. Whilst her mother talked to her about boys and school and plans for the future, her father took the not so easily understood route, and spent a lot of time simply checking up on her.

"You've been quiet these past few weeks," he started, proving to his daughter that she couldn't keep anything from him. "Is everything alright?"

She glanced down. It wasn't easy lying to her parents. In fact she hated it, and did everything in her power to avoid it, but they knew all the right questions to ask and when to ask them. Of course, they were fully aware of her 'adventures' at school, as she would always come home the evidence written in her eyes and mannerisms. The older she grew, the more she had to lie. If they knew the extent of her adventures, the fact that there was a terrorist group with her name on their hit list and an evil tyrant chasing after her best friend, they would have locked her up in her bedroom and thrown away the key, and she wouldn't have blamed them for a second . . . but the others, namely Harry, were relying on her and she was prepared to do anything, whatever it takes to ensure his safety.

That in mind, she looked to her kind father and smiled again. "Everything's fine," she lied. "I'm just nervous about school. My final year is coming up."

He nodded along. "Of course, of course. I imagine you have an eventful year ahead of you."

A clap of thunder awoke her senses as they began to drift. "Yes," she voiced, distantly. "Eventful is the best way to put it."

Five Hours

She was in bed when the sound of footsteps emerged on the far side of the corridor. Because her parents were away for their anniversary, enjoying a show on the West End followed by dinner at their favourite restaurant, she knew in her heart that it can't have been them.

Hermione lifted the duvet from her body and grabbed her wand from the nightstand, looking to the door which had been left ajar a few inches. She always did that in case of emergency. There was one time her door was locked overnight and a fire broke out in the lower levels of the house. She was only eight years old at the time and she nearly lost her life because the lock jammed and the fire grew bigger and bigger, threatening to consume her in those bright, blinding flames.

That night, however, there was no fire.

Her eyes drifted to the clock which read midnight. Mum and Dad aren't meant to be home for at least another hour, she realized.

Because she was seventeen, the idea that they would have sent someone to check up on her was more than unlikely. They stopped hiring babysitters when she was nine. There was no chance in hell they would have done something so ludicrous when she was legally of age. Plus, she was a witch for crying out loud! A strong, skilled witch with a lethal weapon at her disposal and the right to use it whenever she pleased. Merlin, I really do love being seventeen.

That in mind, and the fact that there was a war raging on, she didn't believe for a second that the footsteps belonged to a friend or family member. No, it had to have been a Death Eater, which meant she and possibly her parents were in unthinkable danger. She had to find them and send them as far away as humanly possible. The plan was to do it the night before she left for Bill and Fleur's wedding, but time was no longer on her side. She had to think fast and act even faster.

Wand at the ready and heart pounding against her ribcage, she stepped slowly towards the door and took a closer look. There were footsteps and voices coming from the guest bedroom. More than one person. She breathed deeply, glancing back for only a moment to look at the line of photographs spread out across the desk. Photographs of her family and her friends — the people she loved most in the world and couldn't live without. Her eyes landed on the one of her, Harry and Ron in Hogsmeade. It was simple, but it was the most recent. Smiles. Laughter.

A jolt of panic went through her. I might never see them again. I might die right here, in this house . . . alone. The thought of it brought warm tears to her eyes, but she quickly wiped them away. If she survived the night, she would plan a more suitable time to cry. Right now, I have to face the intruders.

Without another second of thought behind it, Hermione carefully opened the door wider, relieved when the hinges didn't squeak, and slowly made her way down the corridor. One look through the window in the front of the house and she could see that her parents' car wasn't there, which was as big an indication as any that the people in the guest room weren't them. That in mind, she clasped her free hand around the knob of the door leading into the guest room and opened it.

"Oh, my word! Hermione, dear!"

The brunette gasped, tripping over her feet and landing flat on her arse as Penelope and Rowan Granger rushed to cover themselves. "I'm so sorry! I thought you were burglars or -"

"It's alright, dear," Rowan voiced. "We . . . should have told you we'd be home a little early."

One hand over her eyes and the other struggling to feel for the door so she could leave, she was helpless to keep her balance. "Why isn't your car here?" she demanded. "And why are you in the guest bedroom?"

Penelope, the one who saw their daughter first, was now calm enough to speak. "We've had a bit to drink," she carefully explained. "We took a taxi home, and well . . . the guest bedroom was the closest one available to us when we returned . . . "

Hermione cringed. "Okay, well, you two kids have fun. I'm just going to go claw my eyes out," she half-joked. "Night."

Less than a second later, she stood in the long, empty corridor, and breathed out. It could have been the residual shock or the nausea talking, but she would much rather have found a couple of no good Death Eaters in there, than her parents — in that way. She gagged thinking about it and quickly made her way through the corridor, to her own bedroom.

So her parents were safe. That was good.

Mildly relieved, but still mostly disgusted, Hermione climbed into bed and stared at the ceiling.

The incident would make for an awkward morning, she was sure. Penelope would try to talk to Hermione about it over breakfast in an effort to make sure she wasn't permanently scarred, and then Rowan would do the same later in the day. Dinnertime, most likely.

Suffice it to say, she knew her parents like the back of her hand.

And a few minutes later, when her eyes started to close and she rolled to her side, another jolt of panic went through her, but this one had nothing to do with the guest bedroom. It had to do with the tall, dark figure in front of her window, and the silvery demon-eyed mask.

No . . .

Hermione leaped out of bed the moment the first spell left his lips. Narrowly evading the curse, she fell hard against the wooden floor, directly on her wrist, and whimpered, knowing the sound of a broken bone when she heard it. Still, she quickly summoned her wand and blocked the next curse that came hurtling towards her. It connected with her wardrobe which broke apart in large jagged pieces, one of which she threw at him and used as a distraction, as she took cover behind her desk which she had fortified with magic years ago to hold her books without breaking.

"Stupefy!" Hermione shouted.

The nameless Death Eater tucked and rolled out of the way, and the spell shattered her bedroom window, causing fresh waves of rain to pound hard against the floor.

Because her parents hadn't come running through the door, trying to save her from this madman, she was almost certain her room had been soundproofed with magic. Peculiar thing for an evil wizard to have done, she thought. What were a couple of muggle dentists to one of Voldemort's allies? Surely the Death Eater wasn't threatened by her parents. He must have soundproofed the room for different reasons. Perhaps so he wouldn't have to kill them, too.

The thought of it made her wonder, but she didn't dwell on it long.

"Oppugno!" she shouted, sending her desk chair flying at the Death Eater, making contact.

He groaned and lost his footing, stumbling against the wall and blocking her next attack, only to send one of his own.

"Levicorpus!"

Hermione was too late, mid-way through casting her shield charm as her body shot up, roughly a meter above the floor and then down, onto the bed.

A sharp cry broke through her lips as she landed on a jagged piece of wood. It must have fallen on the bed when her wardrobe exploded. Within that same second, she felt warmth down her side and glanced down, taking note of the blood. It gushed out of the fresh wound on her side, where the wardrobe fragment was lodged. When she pulled it out, she thought she might faint from the pain, but the adrenaline helped in that department.

She made motion to fling another spell at him, but he disarmed her and rendered her immobile in one fluid motion. Constricted by the Body Binding Curse, her efforts to fight back were futile at best. Still, she was able to jerk out of the way as he neared.

"Don't touch me!" Hermione shouted through gritted teeth, the energy in her body depleting as she bled out. "Don't . . . don't touch me." Her eyes began to flutter, weighing heavy. She was losing consciousness — fast.

Oblivious to the wound until then, the Death Eater looked down at her side, where the blood was thick and red.

She braced herself, readying her mind and body for what was surely about to happen. He would deliver one final blow and she would either die right then or later in the night, after he tortured her for information on Harry.

"Vulnera Sanentur," the Death Eater murmured, suddenly.

Hermione looked at him, shocked into silence as magic streamed from the tip of his wand and surged through her wound, healing it. In a matter of seconds, the pain and the dizziness was gone, and all that remained were the blood stains, the rain and the broken furniture. She stared at the masked man, eyes wide and skeptical.

"Who are you?" she asked, because it was the first question that came to mind.

He kept silent, hovering over her in that menacing way. If he wanted to, he could have sucked the life out of her body and left her motionless in bed, for her parents to find in the morning . . . but he didn't. Instead, he traced the tip of his wand down her arm and found the spot on her wrist that was broken.

This time, he used wordless magic to heal the damage.

Her stomach lurched as the bone snapped back into place.

Perhaps Voldemort asked his minion to bring me in one piece, no harm done so he could make a game out of me in front of the others.

No matter what the truth was, the time to ask was cut short as the Death Eater pocketed his wand and used his leather gloved hands to lower the demon-eyed mask.

Alabaster skin.

Blonde hair.

Grey eyes.

She had time to utter just two syllables. "Malfoy."

Good? Bad?

This is supposed to be a sister fic to "Ours is the Night" . . . kind of a role reversal, I guess. Doesn't take place in the same reality, though.