A/N: So, the tie for my favourite chapter is between this one and chapter thirty one. This was a bit thrilling to write, so I do hope you all enjoy it. Thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter. =]


Before the Dawn.

by Flaignhan.


There is a sharp rap at the front door. Frowning, she gets off of the settee, grabbing her wand from the coffee table.

Sirius hardly ever uses the front door. Always the back.

Maybe it's Kingsley, or Dumbledore, or Remus.

She knows a split second too late that she should never have opened the door.

He's dirty looking, his teeth yellow, the edges of them black and rotting. His hair is greasy, his eyes sunken, and he is ticking every box of the Azkaban escapee check list. She backs into the kitchen, wand raised, but there is a crash as the kitchen door is kicked open forcefully, and she turns her head to see another death eater leering at her, his dark eyes sparkling with malice, his pointed teeth biting on his dry and cracked bottom lip with excitement.

She backs against the cooker, so she can see both of them, her mind whirring. She can fight, but there's a good chance she'll lose. She hasn't had to duel for ages, she's out of practice, and on top of that, it's two on one, and on top of that, two death eaters whose crimes were so great that they landed themselves with life sentences in Azkaban.

She thinks of Sirius' face, thinks of the feeling of his arms around her, and a burst of silver erupts from her wand, disappearing through the ceiling.

The moment it takes for her to send the message costs her. She is disarmed the second the spell leaves her wand tip, and the small stick on which her life depends soars out of her hand, to be caught by the taller of the two death eaters.

"You can come with us quietly, my lovely," the one nearest approaches, and Hermione edges away, her nose scrunching at the smell coming from him. "It would be a shame to cut that pretty face of yours."

"Or," the other one says, closing in on her from the other side. "You can try and fight, without a wand," his lips twist into a smirk at this. "And we'll be forced to subdue you."

"You're Rabastan Lestrange, aren't you?" she says quietly. His smirk widens, and Hermione turns to the other one, "And I don't know who you are."

"Valdemar Travers," he replies softly. "Perhaps you've seen my wanted poster?"

Hermione ignores him, her eyes fixing on the clock, watching the second hand tick slowly past. He should be here by now. Stomach acid rises in her throat as she realises that there is every chance that her message didn't reach him, that Lestrange may have disarmed her too soon.

She has no wand, and there is a very strong possibility that nobody is coming for her.

"How did you get through my enchantments?" she asks shakily, trying to buy herself some time. She knows a thing or two about death eaters, knows they love to reveal to mudbloods how much more intelligent they are than them.

Lestrange laughs, but Hermione doesn't manage to find the humour.

"It was easy," he says. "The Dark Lord has taught us more than your little mudblood head could ever dream of. Breaking those enchantments was easier than crushing an insect. I'm sure the Dark Lord will find your pathetic attempts at protection most amusing when we tell him."

"You won't be telling him anything," she spits, "and nor will I."

"Then I'm afraid you're going to have to face the consequences," Lestrange says silkily.

"If you come with us, and tell the Dark Lord everything he needs to know -" Travers says, his wand directed straight at her chest.

"We needn't hurt you." Lestrange is disgustingly close, his dirty fingers trailing along Hermione's forearm.

"You can't hurt me," she says, her voice strong, though she cannot keep the tremor at bay.

"Watch us."

Travers raises his wand, but Lestrange pushes his arm down sharply.

"No! The Dark Lord wants her undamaged! We can't go and do another Longbottoms on her, he'll kill us!"

At the mention of Frank and Alice, Hermione's eyes prickle, and before she knows what she is doing, she has grabbed the back of one of the chairs, and whipped it through the air with all the speed and strength she can muster. It crashes into the side of Lestrange's head, breaking into pieces and she shoves him to the floor. Her wand falls out of his grip and she dives for it, but too late, it has rolled under the fridge and the gap is far too narrow for her hands.

She twists around, thinking that perhaps she can take Lestrange's wand from him, but he's on his feet again, his hair matted with blood, trickling scarlet down the side of his face.

"Crucio!"

She screams, pain ripping through her body, but it doesn't last long.

"What did I tell you?" Lestrange roars, seizing Travers by the scruff of his robes.

Hermione scrambles to her feet, and grabs the frying pan from its hook on the wall, before pelting out of the door and along the hallway. She hurries up the stairs, diving into her bedroom and pulls her chest of drawers in front of the door. She can hear Travers and Lestrange thundering up the stairs, and dashes over to the wardrobe and tries to shift it, but it won't move. Tears of panic and fear are falling down her cheeks, thick and fast, clouding her vision. All she wants is Sirius, but he's miles away, completely unaware of the fact that she's fighting for much much more than her life.

The door shudders, and Hermione jumps, though the chest of drawers is holding it closed for now. It won't keep them out forever though, and she runs to the window, looking down at the pavement, wondering how much damage the drop will do to her.

She won't be able to run far enough before they realise, and she can't lead them anywhere that there are muggles - there's no sense in anyone else dying over this.

There is a bang, and the chest of drawers shoots away from the door. Hermione leaps out of the way just in time, and it smashes against the wall, where she had just been standing moments ago.

"What do you think you're going to do with that," Travers demands, pointing his wand at the frying pan.

At this distance, she knows it's useless, but if she can get close enough without getting hexed...

Lestrange shoots a Stunning Spell at her, and Hermione raises the frying pan automatically in front of her. The jet of red light collides with it, and rebounds, hitting the mirror, cracking it, and rebounding again, heading straight for Travers.

Lestrange pulls him down, out of the way, and the spell hits the wall, leaving a hefty dent in it.

Travers lets out a roar of anger and lunges at Hermione. She darts out of the way, and raises the frying pan, but he grabs her arm, twisting it so far it feels like it might break. She drops the pan and it clatters to the floor. Travers slams her into the wall, wrenching her arm further behind her and she shrieks in pain.

There is a loud crack, and Hermione thinks for a split second that it's her arm, finally giving in to the pressure exerted on it by Travers. She can feel him turn away behind her, and his grip on her falters. She takes the opportunity to try and wriggle out of his grasp, but his fingers tighten around her arm once more.

"Well, well," Lestrange says, paying no attention to Hermione's struggling. "Sirius Black. How good of you to join us."

"Avada Kedavra!"

Hermione screams. She cannot tell whose voice has cast the curse, and as the room illuminates in a flash of green, she struggles harder than ever against Travers, whose hands fall away almost immediately. She dives over to the bed, out of reach, and through tear filled eyes she sees Rabastan Lestrange lying dead on her bedroom floor. And then, one polished black boot steps over the body, followed by another, and Sirius is there.

Hermione lets out a sob as relief floods through her like Butterbeer, but he doesn't look at her, his gaze is focused on Travers.

"Get out, Hermione," he says through gritted teeth.

Hermione doesn't need telling twice. She runs over to the door

and grabs Lestrange's wand from his open hand, her arm still throbbing painfully.

"Sirius -"

"Get out."

"Crucio!"

Sirius dodges, and the spell misses by inches. He shoots a hex in return, but Travers deflects it. It collides with the window and the glass shatters.

"Hermione get out! Go! They can't take you!"

She knows she should go, knows he is right, but what sort of person would she be if she left him there duelling a convicted death eater? Spells and hexes are flying through the air, and Hermione shrieks as a burst of green light narrowly misses Sirius. It is the last straw. She storms back into the room and joins the fray, shooting as many hexes at Travers as she possibly can. He is backing into a corner, and she fires a Stunning Spell, sure that this is the end.

He blocks it, and before Hermione knows what is happening, she is thrown back, and collides painfully with the solid wooden wardrobe that she had fruitlessly tried to shift in front of the door earlier. Her head is spinning, and she raises a hand to touch the back of her skull. She feels something warm and wet, and her vision swims before her eyes. The jets of coloured light are blurring together, in an almost beautiful haze of reds and greens and blues. She tries to get to her feet, but every bone in her body feels like it's made of rubber. She raises Lestrange's wand, trying to aim it at Travers, but she can't distinguish him from Sirius.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The room glows green, and Hermione shields her eyes, unable to stand the intensity of the light. There is a thud, and the light vanishes.

"Sirius?" she calls tearfully, "Sirius!"

"I'm here," he says, and she sees his blurred figure approach her. He crouches down, and tilts her head forward to inspect the wound. He mutters a few words, his wand directed at the painful lump on her head, and immediately her vision becomes much clearer. "We need to get out of here," he says.

"My wand," she says, quietly. "It rolled under the fridge."

"All right," he says, "We'll get it before we go." He pulls her to her feet and leads her over to the bed, where she sits, still rather dazed. He presses a cotton scarf into her hand and then places both of them on the back of her head. She winces at the touch, but soon becomes accustomed to it, as Sirius conjures a suitcase, and waves his wand. It fills instantly, with clothes, books, framed photographs from the bedside cabinet, and finally her toothbrush, which lands neatly on top of the lot. He zips the case shut quickly and taps it with his wand. It disappears with a crack so loud that Hermione flinches, the sound echoing around her aching head like a gun shot.

"Accio Hermione's wand."

A few seconds pass where nothing happens, and then, with a soft whiz, Hermione looks up to see her wand flying into the room, coming to a halt in Sirius' open palm. He passes it to her, and she drops Rabastan Lestrange's wand, glad to be rid of the wretched thing. It's the wand that helped destroy the minds of Frank and Alice, and just touching it makes her feel sick.

Then, he turns to the largest patch of blank wall, and raises his wand.

"What are you doing?" she asks.

"Leaving Voldemort a message."

Hermione squeezes her eyes shut, trying to focus on anything other than the roughened squeak that accompanies Sirius carving into plaster with his wand. When he finishes, he takes her by the hand and pulls her to her feet.

"Let's go," he says, casting one last disgusted look at Travers and Lestrange.

He turns on the spot, gripping Hermione's hand tightly. Just before she disappears into the crushing darkness, her eyes find the three words carved messily into her bedroom wall.

SHE IS PROTECTED.