DEATH AWAITS THE FALL
Ron saw it all.
From high above, he saw the opening in the Gryffindor Quidditch tower, now ablaze. He saw a boy holding his wand to a girl, and her on the edge. Already Ron and Ginny were heading over, knowing it couldn't be good. But then he saw the girl was Hermione, her red shirt standing out against the dark alcove, and his heart leapt into his throat.
"Ginny, GO!" He roared.
Seconds later, Ginny reached the tower's landing and Ron leapt from her broom, running over to Cormac, but the moment his feet touched the floor, Cormac pushed her.
Hermione fell, disappearing from view.
"NOOOOO!" Ron roared, shouting and running and he couldn't breathe couldn't breathe couldn't breathe—
Fear completely emasculated him, clawing up his body and tearing his insides apart. His bloody leg ceased its burning pain and became quite numb. He didn't know what the hell was happening, but the fear of Hermione's pronouncement about Voldemort wanting them just weeks before had filled him with nightmares ever since. It couldn't happen...it couldn't happen…
Ron ran over to the edge where he'd seen Hermione last, leaping over the bloody body on the floor, looking over with terror—
—he whipped his wand out—the spell on his lips to stop her body from falling—
She wasn't there.
Relief, confusion, and horror at once overwhelmed him. Relief that Hermione didn't just fall to her death. Confusion that he couldn't find her. And terror that if he couldn't find her, that meant she was...
"Where did she go?" he gasped. "HERMIONE!"
She wasn't anywhere on the ground below that he could see. The Forbidden Forest, maybe? But how would she have gotten from the pitch to the Forest so fast? Wildly, he looked in the skies to see if maybe she was taken there by some unknown force instead.
Where where where—
Ron whirled around and grabbed Cormac McLaggen by the shirt.
"WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?" Ron roared into McLaggen's face.
Cormac looked scared, and Ron brought his fist back before landing it with a sickening crack right into the Head Boy's face. The pompous Gryffindor hunched over, blood flowing out of his nose.
"Come now, Weasley," Cormac wheezed, "Surely you know by now that servants of the Dark Lord never work alone. He told me to do it."
"WHO?" Ron shouted, completely beside himself. "TELL ME WHO HAS HER!"
Cormac McLaggen wasn't so keen on telling him, however. "He said he would take care of you by siccing the dragon on you. Said he'd take care of Potter by making the She-Weasel fall to her death. Said all I had to do was bring the Mudblood to this tower...and he would take care of the rest."
Ron roared. "TELL ME WHO, YOU BLOODY BASTARD!"
The bloody, whitened face of the foul little prick in front of him split into a sadistic grin. There was blood completely covering his teeth.
"Dolohov."
Harry had been flying around, dousing fires, when he came upon the tower and noticed the dangerous scene before him—Ginny standing next to a fallen Malfoy, Ron kneeling over another bloody boy and beating him to a liquidated mess, wand forgotten on the wooden boards beside him.
Flying towards them, Harry was quick to dismount.
But the blood… the blood smeared around the place made Harry just about vomit.
And when he saw Hermione's things next to Malfoy—who, oddly enough, was not the one Ron was pummeling—Harry realized what must have happened. The sickest wave of nausea engulfed him, and he stumbled to the corner and threw up.
He had flown right into a nightmare.
"R...Ron…" he said weakly, moving forward to grab Ron's arm before he did something he really did regret. Harry had to give him props for resorting to the Muggle form of dueling, but if Harry didn't stop him now—
"Get off, Harry—" Ron snarled.
"No, Ron, get away from him—"
"But he—he—"
"I know, Ron, but we have to tell someone—"
"I DON'T BLOODY CARE! HE PUSHED HER OFF! I CAN'T FIND HER, AND HE DID SOMETHING TO HER—!"
"THEN WE HAVE TO GO FIND HER!" Harry finally shouted, jolting Ron to his senses. Harry was taken aback by Ron's shouting, but it honestly mirrored Harry's feelings exactly. "The longer you spend hitting him, the longer it will take to find her! We have to go and tell someone—get help—"
"I-I-I'll go," Ginny whispered, visibly shaken. She took off, leaving Ron there without a broom.
"Dolohov took her…" a weak Ron said, his voice dripping with grief and exhaustion. He sat back, away from the now-unconscious form, and Harry saw with stunned disbelief that it was the Head Boy. "McLaggen s-s-said he pushed her off the tower s-so Dolohov could snatch her without anyone seeing. But he won't tell me where...he won't tell me where Dolohov is taking her…"
"Then we'll find out for ourselves," Harry said grimly. He cast his wand-arm towards the castle, hoping against hope that this would work. "ACCIO MAP!"
It was hopeless.
They searched for hours.
They scoured the Forbidden Forest.
The Aurors were called in.
The Order was called in.
All the teachers knew.
The Castle was on a strict lockdown.
Nobody could find her.
And Ron was sick to his stomach.
Cursing again, he just couldn't get over how blindsided they'd been. What kind of person went to such lengths to cook up such an elaborate scheme? What kind of monster would set a dragon off on people? Or push someone off an effing tower?
And what the hell did they do to her?
Ron looked up from having his head in his hands. The clock ticking filled up the room in its silence. Five agonizing hours had passed. They were torture to Ron. The whirlwind of everything that happened had yet to fully catch up to him.
Harry stood up from the bed beside Ron, pacing, running his hands through his messy black hair.
Waiting.
That's all either of them could do.
Just…
Wait.
They were in the Hospital Wing, which was rather crowded and noisy from the events. Norberta had singed quite a few hairs with her rampage and Ron, who had taken the brunt of her attack, had rather painful third degree burns on his face, arms, and hands, not to mention his bloody leg. Madam Pomfrey annointed him with a salve, but she warned that because it was magical dragon fire, it would take several more hours for his skin to heal properly.
And some portions may never heal at all.
Ron watched Harry walk over to the lattice windows, looking out over the Quidditch pitch.
Neither spoke.
It had been several hours since Norberta's attack, and almost all of the teachers were either out looking for her, fixing the Quidditch pitch...or babysitting the rest of the students. Because of the fact that there was a madman loose inside the wards, every single student was now in their dorms. Except the few in the hospital wing, of course.
Smoke still reigned heavily in the air, but at least the fires were out. Now it was just time to mend everything. Ron couldn't see much from his viewpoint on the bed, but he was sure the Quidditch stands were just about right as rain now.
Someone moaned a few beds over, and Ron looked over to see who it was.
Zacharias Smith. Figures. As a Hufflepuff, he was probably one that Ron saved. But right next to him was…
Ron sucked in a breath.
"What happened to him?" he asked Harry.
Harry followed his gaze to the man, and shook his head. "Dunno. They found him, unconscious. Could have been Norberta, though there aren't any burn marks on him. Most likely he was trampled and someone cursed him to get out of the way. They've tried everything...he still hasn't woken up. Madam Pomfrey told me he...I mean there's a chance...that he might never wake up. He's in a coma."
Coma?
Never would Ron wish that on anyone. Well, maybe Malfoy. Or that bastard McLaggen.
But not on Viktor Krum.
After he and Harry had searched everywhere within range of where Ron had seen Hermione fall, they were forced to go back inside and let "the adults" handle it. They had turned in the Marauders' Map, although she wasn't on it anyway. They were made to wait in the hospital wing to be tended to. They were told to stay there like good little boys.
Pissed beyond measure, they had let Dumbledore and the Order know exactly how they felt about the situation very loudly. Not that it did anyone any good...or helped Hermione in the slightest, wherever she was...
Of course, the Gryffindor game against Ravenclaw ended in a forfeit. Really, having no Snitch and getting your arse handed to you by a dragon really took the fun out of the game. Ron was so sore from the attack and the two-hour-long match—not to mention the hours spent on his broom trying to find her—that he would be just fine never sitting on a broomstick for the rest of his life.
And the fact that Ginny...that some damnable Death Eater hexed her to fall off her broom…
Ron's blood boiled just thinking about it.
When he saw that Cormac McLaggen had done something to Hermione and that she couldn't be found, Ron was beside himself with grief and worry. In the hours that followed, Malfoy was taken out of his petrified state and Dumbledore read his mind to try and piece together the previous events. And when Dumbledore told Harry and Ron that everything had been planned out from the start...that…that McLaggen and Dolohov wanted to...to...
Ron couldn't finish that thought without his head spinning with trepidation.
And now everyone was out looking for her.
Dumbledore said that when McLaggen woke up the Headmaster read his mind as well, and even McLaggen hadn't known where Dolohov was planning on taking Hermione, or what…
What he was planning on doing to her.
Where the hell is she? Did she hit the ground when she fell off the tower? Was she taken out of Hogwarts' wards? Does Dolohov have her? Does V-Vol…
Ron's breath quickened, and his grip around the bedpost tightened as a wave of nausea overcame him.
No...no...he can't have her. Harry's scar would be hurting if he did. Everything's going to be all right. The Aurors will find her...they will stop anything from bad happening...everything will be okay…
So why couldn't he just believe it?
He finally couldn't stand his useless laying position anymore and got out of bed, tearing the strips of fabric off his arms where they were supposed to be helping his skin to keep the salve on. He ignored the pain in his leg and the woozy sense of blood loss that rowed its boat around his brain. Joining Harry out the window, he scoured the view before him for the millionth time, trying to find a glimpse of Hermione anywhere…
"Ron," Harry said brokenly. "You really should keep those on…"
"You sound like Her…" Ron suddenly broke off his words, not wanting to utter her name. Not when she could be...
"She's right, you know," Harry whispered. "She's always right. Always ever been right...fat load of good it does her now…"
"Don't talk about her like that," said Ron forcibly. "Not like she's…"
Dead.
The word hung unspoken in the air between them, a doom they couldn't shake.
"They'll find her," whispered Harry, grief-stricken. To himself? Or to Ron? "They have to. I can't lose her too. Not like I lost Sirius...and Cedric...and my family. I can't lose either of you."
Ron realized with a start as he glanced at Harry's face that Harry was…
Well, he was…
Crying.
The weight of the situation settled more heavily on Ron. He was sure if he was an orphan whose abducted friends were his only family that he'd be crying too.
No offense to Harry or anything.
Ron turned his head back to the window, knowing Harry wouldn't be caught dead with tearstreaks in front of others. He pretended not to notice. His eyes flitted over to the Forbidden Forest, where he could see flashes of light from the search parties. The gnawing fear that had grabbed his stomach and would not let go was always ever-present.
He swore.
"Fuck this. I can't do this anymore," Ron hissed. He grabbed his stuff and walked towards the door. He didn't care what Dumbledore said. He didn't care about any of it.
Harry looked up at him, startled. "What...what are you…"
"I'm going to go and find her!"
"But Ron, they said we need to stay here—"
"I DON'T GIVE A DAMN!" Ron shouted, but a first-year student started crying in her bed, and Ron lowered his voice. "I'm not going to just sit on my arse while she's out there with an effing Death Eater. I'm going to go find her!"
Darkness.
Unconditional umbrage and quietude.
Hermione opened her eyes.
She was lying on her side. A lock of her brown hair fell in front of her eyes. Beyond that, dead, crackling, fallen leaves littered her view.
But there was something dark and sticky on the leaves. She reached out to touch it, and her finger came back red.
Blood.
Alarmed, Hermione shot up, gasping for breath.
It was dusk. The hue of the setting sun shone out in streaks of red, orange, mauve, and a rosy pink. It was striking, but she could only see thin glimpses through the high canopy of the trees above. The shadows loomed somberly, creating a much murkier atmosphere down on the forest floor; and she could clearly see the light of the full moon already risen and shining watery through the trees.
Standing, she had to clutch the cedar tree beside her for support. The plant's rough bark was comforting beneath her fingertips.
A shrill ringing was resounding in her ears, almost pounding in time to the migraine surrounding the cut on her head. Hermione's thoughts swam around her, and she almost passed out again. She gripped the tree to stop from falling over, and waited for the dizziness to pass. There was something trickling down the side of her face, and she realized faintly where the blood on the leaves came from.
She had a...what was the word...caterwaul? No...contagion? Merlin, she couldn't think straight, and everything was floating...
And the smell…
Hermione's stomach heaved, and she gagged, almost throwing up. Something horrid was burning. The stench hit her nostrils and her eyes watered. What, in Merlin's good name, was that…?
She stumbled over, but she saw…a glimmer.
A glimmer appeared in front of her, like an invisible force field. A second later, however, it was gone, and Hermione wondered if she was seeing things.
Wards? No...woods.
Eyes blinking, Hermione tried to shake her head clear of the fog surrounding her brain. Trees surrounded her, yes...she knew that...she was in the woods…
What woods?
What woods did she know…
Well, the Hundred Acre Woods, of course...Rivington Woods, she did love those...the forest of Dean, that was Mother's favorite...wait, forest?
Forest. The Forbidden Forest.
Realization cut through her, and she suddenly remembered. She looked up and, sure enough, the jagged peaks of the familiar Scottish mountains that were Hogwarts' backdrop loomed in the distance.
Relief flooded her till she was dizzy. She was still at Hogwarts. Through an opening in the trees, she could see the Quidditch pitch. Which meant she was somewhere deep in the Forbidden Forest. Which was, naturally, forbidden to students for a reason.
And the glimmer she saw really was the magical wards surrounding Hogwarts and its grounds. She was at the edge of safety. A few more steps...and she wouldn't be safe in the wards anymore.
But...why?
Her hands reached up to clutch her pulsing head. Was all of the blood on the ground hers? She couldn't have been bleeding that much…
Stumbling away dizzily, Hermione gravitated towards that burning, acrid smell fresh in the air. And then, on the other side of that tree, she saw it. One huge smouldering patch of burnt ground and a pile of charred ashes in the middle.
Did someone light a bonfire here? She thought, dazed. Perhaps this was all a night of drunken revelry gone bad. But she didn't smell any alcohol, and there were no passed out bodies beside her own.
The scorched ground was about twelve feet wide in diameter, and had already burned itself out, although still smoking spots remained. But the smell...Merlin…
The bile rose unbidden. Hermione clutched her stomach and threw up against a tree.
A darkness overcame her that made her shiver in fright.
Something very bad just happened, and she had no memory of what it could possibly be.
She looked down and took stock of her appearance. Her shirt was ripped, exposing her midriff. Her jeans were muddy and likewise torn near the ankles, and her boots…
Hermione realized that she was barefoot.
What the hell happened? She thought, shaking. The frosty cold October temperature had fallen just as the sun had, and she didn't have her jacket or her scarf either…
And her socks?
She looked around the dead leaves that blanketed the forest floor.
"Lumos!"
She kept looking for her socks, until she realized her light wasn't on. Why the hell wasn't her bloody wand working—
Oh.
I don't have a wand.
Feeling too lightheaded to feel foolish, Hermione stumbled around in the dark. Her foot hit something. She reached around and felt a small tiny fabric pouch. It was her shrunken bag.
A glimmer of hope rushed into her. What was in her bag though? Nothing...nothing useful...plus without a wand, she couldn't even make it big again. So even if she were to reach inside and pull out food or-or-or water, it would be bloody tiny and wouldn't do her any good…
Tears spilled out of her eyes, and she tried not to hyperventilate.
Breathe.
Just breathe. And walk back to the castle.
And try to figure out what happened.
Why couldn't she remember what happened? Who would have stolen a piece of her shirt? And her shoes…? What, was someone walking around with them on? Did the bloody body-robber think she was dead?
Seriously, what the hell...
She was swearing now more than she ever had before in her life. The situation clearly called for it, however. The predicament she was in now was both dark and confusing. Hermione tried to piece together what could have happened.
Her last memory was of…
Of her falling…when Cormac had pushed her.
So what happened between then—which took place roughly afternoon—to now? Judging by the time she knew sunset was, the position of the moon, and when moonrise was (because of course she kept up with these things, having a werewolf as a professor), it was roughly around seven o'clock in the evening. Still, that was…
Seven hours of her life unaccounted for.
The hairs on her arms stood on end. She felt a scream rise in her throat, echoing around inside her head, but it never came out.
Why couldn't she remember how she got here?
And who the hell brought her here?
And better yet…
Where were they now?
Hermione stumbled over to where the blood on the leaves was thicker and more spread out.
Her world was still hazy. It was as if everything right in front of her was focused...but the edges of her vision, everything behind her and around her, was shaking from some sort of mental earthquake. And the smell...the nasty chemical smell of blood and burning and death...
There...she was no Sherlock, but she could see something in the ground where someone must have dragged something heavy...the blood was growing thicker...until…
Did someone try to save her? Did they get injured?
Walking through the forest for another minute, she followed the blood trail, her eyes closing heavily until it took her a few seconds to remember she was supposed to keep them open as she walked. She forced them open again.
The blood trailed over to a large tree. She smelled it before she saw it. There, nestled at the base of the towering tree's roots, was something small and golden lying there.
Crookshanks.
Blood matted his fur, and it was smeared all around him.
He was dead.
Ron dressed quickly.
He rummaged through Harry's trunk and grabbed Harry's Invisibility Cloak to stuff it in his pocket. It had been a bitch getting into Gryffindor tower with all the new security and everyone on lockdown, so he was going to need help sneaking out.
Frustration gripped him. How the hell am I supposed to find her?
Not for the first time, he wished he knew Legilimency, and cursed Harry for not knowing it by now.
Then he cursed Harry for not coming with him.
Merlin abroad, there must be some way. Some magical trick or spell or something that nobody else has figured out by now!
But try as he might to think of one, he was coming up with a blank. What could he possibly know that none of the Aurors and Order members and teachers knew? They were years his senior, they had so much experience, there was no way in hell that they wouldn't know how to track her—
An image of Crookshanks' tracker flashed in his mind from that morning at Hagrid's as Hermione was rummaging around inside her bag.
"I don't know why I brought it…I was hoping to try a few spells on it during the match to see if I could find out where Crookshanks might be...I left the tablet in my room though…"
Hermione had the tracking collar in her bag.
Holy shite.
Ron stood up, the blood rushing to his head. Hoping against hope that he was right, that she had left the bloody tablet in her room, she must have, but what if she didn't and he'd be back at square one? But what if she did and he was right and—
Bloody hell. He could use her tablet to track her instead of Crookshanks. But...how the hell was he going to get into her room?
Well...maybe...perhaps he could go down and ask Lavender to go up and search Hermione's things for it...but no...he really, really didn't want to have to talk to Lav, and she was hardly going to help him now, was she...
And then he saw his dragon-scorched Cleansweep Eleven perched against the wall from when Dean and Seamus had brought it up for him. They'd found it on the Quidditch pitch, they said. The burn marks on the poor thing went up and around the sides, and that wasn't near as bad as the tail that was almost completely gone.
But next to the faithful, slow-arse, pitiful thing was something far better—
Harry's Firebolt.
A plan formed in his mind. Perhaps he could get out of Gryffindor tower another way.
Mind made up, he threw on the Cloak and mounted the Firebolt—trying to ignore the sad glance of betrayal his own broom was undoubtedly throwing him, of course—and shot a spell at the windows.
And then he was soaring out of them.
It was a mark of how exhausted and in shock she was that Hermione didn't break down in tears.
She just stared at her dead pet. If she'd had her wand, she would have tried to dig some sort of grave for him. Or conjure a wreath of flowers. Perhaps...shut his wide-open eyes…
"He saved me…" she whispered.
That much was evident.
Her mind—ever logical even when she was dizzy with blood-loss and shock—worked a bit harder as it sorted out this bloody puzzle.
Whenever she fell, she reasoned, Cormac pushed her.
Well, yes, yes, of course he pushed her. He must have. She remembered it.
So...she fell. But she didn't land. Did she?
Brow furrowed, Hermione tried to remember.
No. Didn't land. She must have been snatched in the air, saved from dashing to the rocks below. Saved...by a Death Eater. It wasn't Cormac. Couldn't have been Malfoy...but what other Death Eaters were there…
Her thoughts trailed off into a murky swamp, and Hermione had to abandon ship before she passed out again.
She had to keep moving. When she walked, she stayed awake.
Taking more steps towards the direction of the castle, she tried to wake her brain up.
Think. Think. He would have had to have either been on a broom or...or...or standing where she couldn't see him when she looked down from the tower. He stopped her fall, either by catching her on his broom or by slowing her descent. She must have been unconscious by then, because she didn't remember being caught. In any case, he would have brought her to the Forbidden Forest where nobody could see them. He would have taken her to the wards that surrounded Hogwarts and its environs. He would have tried to take her through it...to get her away from safety...and if he had succeeded, he would have been able to disapparate with her anywhere.
To Voldemort.
But he hadn't succeeded, obviously.
Something had happened. Either he found out he couldn't take her through, or...
He...was attacked. That explained the blood around her when she woke on the forest floor. Something attacked him. Crookshanks.
She shook her head. No…not right...
Already that didn't make sense. Else, why wouldn't Crookshanks' body and the Death Eater be found next to her?
Something must have happened. He dragged her...but Crookshanks caught up with him. And...something else...yes…
It had to have been something else too. The Death Eater wouldn't have just left her there, not when he was so close to taking her to his master. And he couldn't have disapparated because, of course, that wasn't allowed on Hogwarts grounds. No apparating on Hogwarts grounds. No disapparating on Hogwarts grounds. But if he was wounded, there would have been bloody marks going away from her body besides Crookshanks'.
Which meant he was chasing off, or being chased by, the other thing that attacked him. And of course...if that person had been a friend, they wouldn't have just left her there. Which meant the Death Eater chasing him off would have just recently happened...or…
Or the Death Eater got him.
She shivered.
A howl split across the distance.
Her arm hairs prickled.
Howl. On a full moon. Full moon meant…
Moony.
And then all of a sudden, Hermione realized who it was who saved her.
Another howl, much closer this time, was cut off abruptly by a whine of pain.
"Moony!" she cried out, whipping her head around, wishing she had a wand. Fighting down a wave of nausea at this sudden move, Hermione stumbled forwards, clothes catching on spindly bushes—
That sound couldn't have been more than a hundred yards away. And she could see the shapes now. A dark, tall figure...a huge, beastly form...whines and cries as the Death Eater trained his wand and tortured the wolf in front of him.
She was awake now. Very, very awake.
"No!" Hermione screamed, unused voice sounding tortured. "NO! Leave him ALONE!"
The Death Eater and his wand turned on her.
Elated at the adrenaline rush, Ron rounded the tower, counting windows as he went. The Gryffindor sixth-year girls had to be the same floor as the Gryffindor boys, so he looked through the top-most windows…and then he saw the one with the most damage, and threw another spell at the windows, flying through.
Feeling very, very like an intruder, Ron was beyond relieved that the room was empty. He'd already seen the other girls in the common room. Hoping against hope that they stayed down there, Ron still knew he had to be quick. His feet touched the lush carpet, and he walked over to Hermione's area.
Homesickness for her overwhelmed his senses, and Ron took several steadying breaths before he rummaged through her perfectly-made bed that smelled very much of her.
Tears sprung unbidden in his eyes, but he couldn't—couldn't—think of that right now, he had to focus on her being well and safe and not with that damnable Death Eater—
Focus!
Hermione's desk caught his eye, and the stone tablet sitting so unassumingly on it. He hardly had time to wonder why the foxtrot the girls got to have desks and not the boys, before he grabbed it.
Wand shaking, Ron tapped it, and the tablet was activated. He saw the girls' room and the stone tablet being held by him.
"Miniscula."
The map zoomed out, till the entire tower was shown. Then all of Hogwarts. Then all of the grounds. Then the little blinking red dot appeared and Ron sat down hard on the bed, dizzy with relief. It was in a little corner deep, deep into the Forbidden Forest where Ron was certain they'd never been before.
She's here! She's still here, he hasn't taken her to V-Vol…
But just as quickly, the fear was back. He'd found the tracker, but what if it wasn't still on her? What if it fell out while she struggling? Or…
What if she isn't even alive?
Heart racing, Ron raised his shaking wand again and tapped the red dot.
"Majuscula!"
It zoomed in slowly, too slowly, and Ron held his breath until it got closer and closer—
And then there she was.
Still.
Somebody was walking closer to hers. But of course he didn't know who it was, this stupid bloody map didn't label things like the Marauders' Map—
But why the hell couldn't we find her on the Map? This doesn't make any sense. She's still in the wards, it should have shown her. The only reason the Map wouldn't have shown her is if she was—
His racing heart stopped, and Ron thought the word before he could stop himself.
Dead.
Face white, Ron grabbed the broom and ran across the room. He leapt out of the window and onto the Firebolt, soaring towards the Forbidden Forest faster than he'd ever had in his bloody life.
She flew backwards.
Her body was slammed up against a tree some thirty yards behind her, Crookshanks lying dead at her feet once more. Horrified, Hermione tried to move her arms, her hands, even her feet, but she was stuck to the treeby his spell and could do nothing as he walked closer to her. The invisible force holding her vibrated as the Death Eater drew near. And then he took off his mask.
"Dolohov," she gasped, and the cursed scar on her chest started throbbing.
His wand still trained on her, Dolohov's arm snaked out and grabbed her face. His long, unkempt fingernails dug into her skin and she choked down a whimper, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.
Moony the Werewolf, lying on the ground behind the Death Eater, snarled and tried to get up. But the Cruciatus Curse did a number on his quaking limbs. It was one of the only spells that worked on werewolves, who were magically shielded. He couldn't hold up the weight of his canine body because of it, and Moony fell over again.
"What is it about you, Mudblood?" Dolohov hissed. "What is it about you that the Dark Lord wants so? Shall we go find out, then? You and me?"
Hermione spat in his face, wishing with all her might that she'd been born a dragon so she could scorch him instead.
Instead, he threw his head back and laughed at her. Her skin crawled at the sound. A movement off in the woods caught her eye, but it didn't look human, and her heart raced—
"I like them fiery," he said, appraising her.
The look in his eyes sickened her, until suddenly he wasn't looking at her anymore. Confused, Hermione's eyes followed Dolohov's as he looked towards the cracking of forested footsteps.
Hestia Jones came into view.
She blasted Dolohov away from Hermione with a swish of her wand, disarming him as well, then ran forward, stopping first at the unconscious Moony, who needed far more help than Hermione.
"Hermione! Are you all right? What happened? He didn't touch you, did he?" Hestia asked, bandages shooting out of her wand and wrapping themselves around the werewolf's bleeding legs.
"H-Hestia?" said Hermione. "He's not a...alone...there's a...there's...a...Dolohov has—"
But the roar of a beast deafened their ears, and Hermione screamed as Fenrir Greyback in full werewolf form leapt onto Hestia.
The Defense professor, although well-versed in duels and battles, spells and curses, couldn't do much against the werewolf—who was magically impervius to most everything she threw at him.
It was a losing battle.
Hermione watched in horror, screaming, as Greyback trapped Hestia under his paws, snapping her wand with his jaws, his claws digging into her skin, blood dripping out around them.
"NO! DON'T! GET OFF HER!" Hermione screamed. "MOONY, WAKE UP!"
But Greyback was blessedly still over Hestia's struggling form, not going in for the kill, and Hermione realized belatedly that he was waiting...for orders.
"I was hoping it wouldn't come to this," snarled Dolohov as he limped back over. "I don't even know how the hell she got through the blood barrier. But the bitch has been a thorn in our sides for far too long. You know what to do, Fenrir."
"Please, please just let her go," sobbed Hermione, pleading for her professor's life. "Please, I'll do anything! Make him stop—!"
A sickening howl of pleasure split the air, and Fenrir Greyback sunk his teeth into Hestia's neck.
Hermione screamed. "NO!"
Ron almost crashlanded into a small clearing in the forest, and dismounted. What the hell did he just crash into? There was definitely something in the air...an invisible forcefield or something. It wasn't a ward...at least not any he'd ever seen before.
He ran forward and put his hands gingerly against where he collided into it. The air shimmered red for a brief second before vanishing.
Not a ward then…
Something Dark? Perhaps...blood-related?
Peering through the trees, Ron tried to find out what was happening in the darkness before him. His light spell didn't help any either. He didn't see Hermione anywhere. Pulling out Hermione's tablet, Ron tried to find her on there and see how far away he was, relieved when he spotted her a few hundred yards from him.
He only had to find a way through this Dark protection spell, then he could go to her.
Of course, ten minutes and about forty spells later, this proved far more difficult than he'd thought. He was just about ready to throw his wand down in frustration when he heard the cracking of footsteps on twigs, and he whirled around.
It was Charlie.
Relieved beyond measure, Ron's wand arm sagged.
"Thank Godric, Charlie, I need help! I was just about to send a Patronus. I found Hermione! Dolohov has her in this weird protective bubble though, no wonder nobody else could find her. But I found her on this tracking collar device, it—"
A spell shot at him—he barely dodged it in time, and it nicked his arm.
"Ow! What the hell, Charlie—"
Charlie threw another one. Ron threw up his shield, and it richoted.
"What are you playing at—" Ron roared.
But the blank eyes—the expressionless face—Ron cowered under his shield as his Imperiused brother threw spell after nonverbal spell at him, too shocked and merciful to think of shooting any curses at his brother.
"Charlie, come on—"
Ron stuck his head out of his shield—a Killing Curse shot right by his head and singed a hair—
Shocked, Ron shouted, "Protego!"
His spell shot towards Charlie, covering him and protecting Ron from a few more Killing Curses.
Ron roared, "NOW SNAP OUT OF IT, YOU PRICK!"
Hermione sobbed, her tears obscuring her vision of Hestia, bleeding out on the forest floor. The woman's neck was a dark red, her face was white, her eyes were closed.
Prowling around her body, Fenrir Greyback's bloody muzzle was stark around his gray fur, his eyes now on Hermione. He kept growling impatiently, coming even closer and sniffing around her legs and feet. She was too much in shock to realize that Dolohov had moved too until his face was right before hers.
"Now, darling," he hissed into her ear. "If you don't want me to tell the werewolf to do the same to you, you're going to be good for me, won't you?"
"What do you want?" she whispered, tears leaking out.
"What I want doesn't matter. I only serve the Dark Lord. And although he wants your little Weasley brought to him dead, my Master seems to want you alive." Dolohov stepped over to Hestia and picked up his wand from her limp hand. "Unfortunately…we tried to get you past the wards already, and failed. And so we've had to...improvise…"
He walked back towards her, his black cloak swishing, his gray hair and marred features illuminated in the moonlight. Greyback followed Dolohov towards her, growling his pleasure at the blood-stained air around them.
"But although my Master wants you alive, he never said anything about unspoiled," said Dolohov with a sadistic grin, reaching out his clawed hand towards Hermione's throat. "Perhaps now we can finish what we started in June, my little Mudblood."
"Don't you dare touch me!" she growled, trying in vain to fight back.
He ignored her.
In terror, Hermione felt his hand leave her neck and go crawling down her chest until he exposed the skin between her breasts. She squirmed, trying to get away from his vile touch.
In hunger he stared at her scar, the ugly V-shape marring her features, white in the darkness and moonlight.
It was the scar that he gave her.
Hermione bit back a cry as Dolohov touch it, the disgust of his nasty skin on her five-month-old scar burning her.
"I do love to see my handiwork," he hissed.
Narrowed, brightly-dark eyes gazed transfixed at her skin, and Hermione tried to get out of his hold, her fingers scratching the bark behind her. She still couldn't bring her arms or body forward from his spell, however. His nasty hand drew back, but Hermione's relief at that brief gesture was dashed when he brought out a wickedly sharp dagger.
"No, no, no," Hermione gasped, struggling harder to get away. "Please, please don't! PLEASE—!"
With the razor edge of his blade, he carved into her skin, following the three inches going down and the three inches going back up again—slicing it sharply open again as he went—red blood dripping down her chest—
Hermione screamed in agony.
Author's Note:
First off, shout out to AzureAlquimista, WinkingSkeever, Books, Gja03, Iris129, Celeste45, JohnDouglas4274, and the guests who have reviewed, it really is the highlight of my day! Look for a surprise in the next chapter, and I can guarantee you will know it when you see it.
As for the story, I sure hope it is exceeding your expectations! I'd hate to get a T for Troll, even if this is just fanfic. As always, let me know what you want to see happen next, and I will do what I can! (No promises on if any of you ask for no more cliffhangers, though. You know they are my jam.)
Also, congratulations to JohnDouglas4274 for being my 100th Reviewer! And congratulations to AzureAlquimista for bringing my reviews up to Eleventy-One! (See what I did there? I'm multi-verse-able.)
Cheers!