A/N: Thanks to those who took the time to review last chapter, hope you enjoy this one. =]
Before the Dawn.
by Flaignhan.
She's been waiting for this. She's already at the Ministry, and as soon as the call comes through from the paintings, she apparates downstairs.
He's in a bad way, and she sends an emergency message to the healers at St Mungo's.
"Hang on," she says. "You're going to be fine, I promise."
Arthur smiles weakly, his hand shaking badly. She wonders if there was venom in that bite. She tries to halt the bleeding, but it is no ordinary snake bite. He's leaking like a sieve, wounds all over his torso and arms. She gives him a blood replenishing potion, brewed that morning in preparation - she can't stop the bleeding, but the more blood he has the longer he'll last.
There is a pop, and two healers in lime green robes appear with a stretcher floating between them.
"What happened?" the taller of the two asks, a quick quotes quill jotting down notes at his side.
"Attacked by a snake," she says breathlessly. "The blood won't clot, I've tried. I've given him some replenishing potion but he's bleeding so fast..."
The healer nods and Arthur is levitated onto the stretcher.
"Are you coming?" Arthur wheezes.
Hermione takes his hand gently. "I promise you'll be fine. Molly'll be there soon."
He nods, his eyelids fluttering shut.
The three of them disapparate, and Hermione is left alone in the darkness. First on her to do list is to get in touch with Dumbledore. She sends a patronus message, her little silver otter bounding out of her wand tip and disappearing through the ceiling.
Arthur's in hospital. He'll be fine. I'll stay on duty.
She wonders if it's just paranoia, but she's sure she can hear hissing. She keeps her eyes peeled and casts an extra-sensory charm, which only makes things worse. She can hear every little noise, every whisper of wind breezing its way through a cracked tile. Her own breathing is amplified tenfold, and shadows are morphing into images of serpents, only to dissolve when she casts her wand light over them.
She's scared.
She holds her wand steady, the small beam of light at the tip doing nothing to cancel out the darkness. The soles of her shoes are loud against the marble floor as she paces slowly up the corridor, checking every nook and every cranny for signs of Nagini.
There is a part of her that would much rather it were Voldemort here instead of his pet snake. He likes to make a song and dance of things, likes it all to go off with a bang. He doesn't hide.
Her heart is thudding her chest, so loudly that she's sure that wherever Nagini is, be it right behind her or five miles away, she will be able to hear. She can probably even taste her fear. She probably enjoys it.
She feels sick, and wishes she could go home. She can't though. One guard's been taken out already, Voldemort has the prime opportunity to come and take the prophecy for himself.
She sits on the floor, in front of the black door that has haunted her for years, and draws her knees up to her chest.
The little ball of light on the end of her wand only hammers it home how very alone she is.
What if Nagini were to attack her? Who would be there to save her?
Her question is answered with a loud crack.
"Evening Granger," Moody grunts, and without another word he limps heavily down the corridor, his wand light filling ever corner as he checks for threats. When he's making his way back, Hermione can see his magical eye spinning in its socket, and wonders how he can possibly see anything when it's moving that fast.
"Constant...vigilance..." he says quietly, eye still whizzing in its socket.
"D'you think he'll come?" she asks.
Moody shakes his head. "Doubt it. He'll know Arthur's been picked up by now, the Order's on high alert, it's too risky, even for him."
"He could deal with us easily though."
Moody raises an eyebrow. "Speak for yourself."
She almost smiles. Then remembers that eventually, Voldemort does deal with Moody.
She's glad there are only a couple of years left. She hates knowing what's coming. With times like this, it always puts a dampener on things.
"You know, Granger," he says, conjuring a wooden stool and sitting down on it with small groan of age, "It always surprised me that you never became an auror, after everything."
"Why?"
"Well, you just seem the type," he says, giving a sniff and resting his hands on his knees. His eye is still turning in every direction.
"The type?" she's surprised by this. She's bookish. She has a desk job. That's not really auror material.
"Well, you get two types of aurors. Ones who want to seek justice and make the world a safer place, and ones like me, ones like the one you would have been."
"Which are?" she's so curious now that she's not paying attention to the corridor, she's placing all her trust in his constant vigilance. She'd have made a shoddy auror, really.
"Ones who have nothing left to lose."
She sits back, resting her head against the wall and says nothing. It is a short while before she breaks the silence.
"I've got Sirius."
"Yeah, but for how long?"
Hermione's jaw drops open a little. Tactful is not a word she would ever have chosen to describe him, but she had no idea he would be that insensitive. She shouldn't be surprised though. It is Moody after all.
"I see the way you look at him. There's a death sentence hanging over his head, isn't there?"
If she can trust anybody to not say a word, to be objective about her situation, it's Alastor Moody.
"Yes."
"Well," he says gruffly. "After he's gone, I expect you to be joining Kingsley and his team. Waste of much needed talent if you ask me."
She's not sure she needed him to be that objective.