Chapter 39 – Frenzied Flight
Four broomsticks shot through the sky as quickly as they were capable – which, admittedly, was not overly quick, especially not compared to the likes of a Nimbus or a Firebolt. But Hermione was not about to let something as paltry as the speed of her broom slow her progress towards the people who'd caused the death of her parents, especially not so long as they remained a threat to the life of her brother. So she led the way, pushing her old Cloudstreamer to its limits and very nearly beyond; the weathered wood seemed to groan in protest. Hermione had never been overly confident on a broom, but now she flew as if she'd been doing it her whole life.
That's what they say about desperate times, she thought.
They had been flying for hours, and a dusky pall of grey was cast over the sky. But they were very nearly there.
Then…she could see it. The manor, the one that had seemed it would hold all the answers, but now stood, ominous and imposing, in the falling night.
Hermione pulled her broom into a slow dive, gradually headed to the ground, and she saw, out the corners of her eyes, the three boys follow suit.
They would land; they would enter the house.
And then all hell would break loose.
Hermione's thoughts, at last, were sharpened, focused. Everything had fallen into place. There were no more questions. Now she had a mission, and objective. And she had to follow through.
Simple.
Of course, Hermione had forgotten that nothing was allowed to be simple for her anymore.
She felt a wave of dizziness wash over her, and she dropped a few feet, too quickly. She steadied the Cloudstreamer, only to falter again. Tendrils of white-hot pain shot through her temples, and she gasped.
She heard Draco calling out behind her, but she was lost in the throes of a vision.
She was being carried by the dragon again, Maguson Manor burning below her.
Tyler! she thought frantically. Where's Tyler? She twisted, painfully – for the dragon's grip was as inexorable as ever – and, with a rush of relief so intense it was almost dizzying, saw him, safely beyond the range of the flames.
But he was chasing after her, running under the skeletal shadow of the gargantuan dragon, and yelling something. His words were lost in the roar of the wind created by the downstroke of the dragon's wings. When the creature tilted his wings and banked in a wide, gliding turn, she heard her brother's voice, panicked and scared.
"Hermione! He's going to—"
But what he said next was drowned out in her own shrieks. Not that what Tyler was going to say next really mattered; he was only warning her, too late, of what had just happened: The dragon had released her from its claws, and she was plummeting to the flames below.
Hermione struggled to tear herself back to reality. Blinking away the afterimages of the brilliant fiery eddies, she looked up to see an enormous ground-floor window of the manor hurtling towards her.
She'd dropped too far, way too fast. Pull up! her instincts screamed at her. But her reflexes, groggy and dazed from what they'd just experienced, did not obey. She only had time to throw her hands up and close her eyes as she barreled straight through the window.
The yells of Ron, Harry, and Draco were lost in the mocking clinks and clashes of the shattering glass.