Their Little Witch
Chapter 22
In hindsight, Hermione should have known that the others would never go for her half-baked plan. In truth, if she'd been thinking clearly, she wouldn't have either. On paper, the plan was simple. Allow herself to be arrested, prove her innocence, raise awareness for the unfair treatment of muggleborns.
Unfortunately, as Harry pointed out, Wizarding Trials were almost always fixed, and in some cases, non-existent. Sirius hadn't been given a trial, and it was only simple deduction that raised the points that the situations were almost similar. It was also likely that she'd be thrown to the dementors by the death eaters that were already at the prison. Luna had been kind enough to inform her.
Bucky had thrown a fit, accusing her of suicidal tendencies before storming from the room, Steve and T'Challa hot on his heels.
That had stung more than she liked to admit. And as she sat there, ignoring the stares of Luna and Harry, she thought maybe he was right. Maybe she was too reckless, too impulsive. Was she hurting the people around her? A quick glance had told her yes, she was. And that old Hermione Granger would not have been so stupid.
The truth was, she didn't know why she felt this way. She wasn't the same girl that Harry and Luna seemed to remember and her changes were hurting them. Was she destined to hurt everyone who got close to her?
Who even was she, anyway?
With heavy thoughts, she'd turned to Shuri,
"Please, I think I'd like to lie down if there's somewhere private that I can go?"
Shuri had nodded, shepherding Hermione out of the door while casting a dark glare at the two people they were leaving behind. How could they not see that their friend wasn't really healed yet? They'd just verbally shunned and lashed at her. Even Stark and Fury had ended their calls when they couldn't intervene. It didn't take a genius to work out that Hermione had been through a lot and that her neural pathways weren't all connected yet. Medical professionals would probably say that she had developed some form of PTSD- Post Traumatic Stress Disorder- But Shuri knew better, she'd seen inside Hermione's brain, she'd seen the mess that the death eaters had left behind. The girl was heading down a steep slope, and the people closest to her just couldn't see it. She'd have to talk to them later, Shuri reasoned. There was just no excuse.
Hermione followed behind her in silence, her head dropped. She had never before so needed to be alone. She needed to breathe, to cry, to do something that involved only her.
The room that Shuri had taken her to was pretty, the walls were a burned orange, the bed was a comfy looking double that she doubted she would use. There was a wardrobe, a vanity unit and a large armchair. The window over looked the jungle, and she was several floors higher than the ground. Her wand and beaded bag were on the bed, Shuri had taken the trouble to have them removed from Bucky's room for her.
The girls stood in silence for a moment before Shuri spoke up,
"Just for the record, healing takes time. I know that they've hurt you, but I've been in your mind Hermione, and you'll be okay. I'd still like to Collab with you in the future."
Hermione just smiled, offering the girl a weak hug before Shuri left her to her thoughts.
Hermione picked up her wand, aiming it at the door,
"Colloportus." The door wouldn't open now, but she threw up an anti-intruder jinx as well, no one would be coming in.
For a moment, she just stood there, staring at the door. She wanted Bucky to come in, as he normally would, and comfort her, make her feel less like a burden.
But he'd made it clear, hadn't he?
"I can't cope with your self-destructive tendencies, I can't and won't sit back and watch this."
She was too much for him, too much for them.
She supposes maybe she's too much for herself, too. She knew, deep down, that they were right. She was endangering herself without consideration for them, she was selfish.
Well. That's fine. She simply wouldn't bother them again.
"Muffliato."
Now they wouldn't hear her, either.
She grabbed her bag, opening it quickly and digging around for her phone and charger. She plugged it in, of course it's dead.
She lays herself on the ground, her body ached and she was exhausted, but her mind wouldn't settle. To her, yesterday she was battling for her life, she was being tortured. Yesterday, she'd kissed Bucky. But yesterday was a week ago, and she didn't know how to make her impulses settle. She still didn't feel safe; she instinct was to ward herself in till kingdom come.
Alone, she was afraid. She hadn't truly been alone in the weeks that came before the battle, her last real time alone had been in the Malfoy dungeon, and she'd felt pretty secure and surrounded after her escape. Now though, she felt alone. Even though she wasn't, there were people all over the place here.
Her brain felt scattered, unsettled. Her thoughts were like the river she'd foolishly jumped into, wild and unending, twisting and turning almost violently.
As she laid there, loneliness and fear creeping up on her, she realised that what she wanted, more than anything right now, was her mum. And her mum was gone.
Her mum would have understood, she'd have held Hermione in that way that made her feel like she was being held together. She'd have stroked her hair until she'd calmed down, and then she'd have helped her sort through whatever was left of her mind.
After this morning, she didn't have any tears left to cry, so her sobs were dry and racked at her ribs painfully.
There was a knock at her door and she ignored it.
After a few seconds, the knock came again and she ignored it again.
"Hermione, let me in." Harry.
Harry who hadn't cared enough to say goodbye.
Harry who should be at home, being looked after by the Weasleys, but wasn't because she had messed up and lost her mind.
"Hermione, please let me in."
Her phone buzzes as it turns on, but she can't summon the energy to pick it up or look at it.
"Hermione? I know you're in there. I'm worried about you."
He shouldn't. She was impulsive, reckless, a danger to herself. He'd said that himself. He should be at The Burrow.
"Alohamora."
Obviously, it didn't work. Hermione wasn't weak, her spells would hold. They always had.
"Damn it Hermione, just open the door!"
She hears a thud, he probably hit it. A very muggle move, she muses.
She pulls the sheet off her bed, pulling it over herself so that she had something to hold on to, something to wrap around herself so that she didn't feel so much like she was falling apart.
"Hermione, you've never been stupid, don't you dare start now."
She curls into a ball, putting her hands over her ears to muffle the sound.
After a few more minutes, he leaves.
She slowly pulls her hands down, shocked to find her palms damp from tears. She thought she'd ran out of tears to cry. She must have been wrong.
She grabbed her phone, punching out a text to Tony,
'I need a ride to London, can you help me?'
Less than five minutes later, he text her back,
'Who's going with you? What size jet do I send?'
'Just me.'
'OK. It'll be there at 4am. It's a 10 hour flight.'
'Thank you.'
Tony doesn't think she's weak, or a flight risk.
Or a mudblood. She can still hear Bellatrix laughing in her mind, like a demented soundtrack that wouldn't end.
She fingers the scar on her arm, only slightly shocked to see that the flesh looked better, more healed, but still branded.
Like cattle.
Because that's all she is, just a filthy mudblood. A number on a spreadsheet. A freak.
Her chest is tightening; it's almost hard to breathe now. Like she's back in the river, drowning and flipping and-
No.
She pinches her skin; the sharpness brings her back to reality.
Something hits her window and she jumps to her feet, wand in hand. She approaches the window slowly, her knuckles turning white.
When she peeks out, Harry and Luna are throwing stones at the glass. She closes her curtains, muttering a silencio at the glass before she clambers back to the bed, throwing herself down.
She fingers her beaded bag, feeling the textures under her finger tips. It's rough, bumpy, but the individual beads are smooth. She breathes easier.
She hasn't eaten today, and she doesn't think she can stomach any food right now, she doesn't know how long she's been in this room. It must have been a while though.
Time seemed fuzzy, like it was passing without her knowing about it.
She stands, her body aches with lack of use, and yet, she was sure she'd just laid down.
She grabs herself a glass of water, sipping it down as she blinks the confusion away from her eyes, what was happening to her?
She'd never blacked out before, and she was already afraid.
There's a knock at her door, this one louder than Harry's,
"Hermione? Are you awake?"
Bucky. She almost chokes. Her hand almost reaches for the door handle before his voice reaches her again,
"I'm sorry, Hermione. I've bought you dinner, if you open the door, I'll bring it in for you."
Her fingers ghost on the handle, her heart hurts and she presses her head onto the wood, she desperately needs him,
"Hermione? You need to eat."
She lowers her Muffliato,
"Why?"
For a moment, there's silence. Then there's a tiny thud on the door, higher than her head, and she imagines that he's pressed his head to the door too,
"Why what?"
"Why are you still trying to look after me?" She ignores the stupid break in her voice, the stupid whimpering sound that her voice had become.
She imagines his face, the face she'd grown to care for. She imagined the warmth that his presence gave her, because right now she was freezing.
"Hermione, let me in. Please?"
She wants to, oh god she wants to, but there's a traitor in her brain,
"I'm not worth this effort, Bucky. You- you deserve so much more than this."
And she walks away from the door, wrapping herself back in the duvet as a dry sob heaves her body, bringing her to her knees. Bucky's banging on her door, yelling her name, but his voice is turning fuzzy in her brain.
"Answer me!"
Is he still talking?
Why is he still there?
It's dark in here now, she can't see her hands in front of her face.
But she can see a silver stag, beautiful and majestic galloping into her room, the patronus makes her feel lighter, lets her breathe again,
"Hermione, we're worried about you, please open the door. I get it, I know you're in a dark place, and we want to help you, just let us in."
The stag gently nuzzles her chin, spreading a small glimmer of warmth through her chest and she can feel parts of her mind clearing.
She reaches out, her fingers dancing across the silvery energy, warming her hands too.
When it fades away, she's able to stand up, flicking her light on. There's shadows under her door, more than one person was out there. She glanced at the clock; her jet would be here in minutes. What was going on with the time?
She swallowed thickly, her heart hammering in her chest as she grabs her wand and her beaded bag. Her stomach rumbles painfully, but she ignores it. When the clock hands tell her its four in the morning, she concentrates, picturing the front of the building that she'd been at earlier, and with a deep breath, she apparates with a loud crack that echoes in the silence.
She reappears exactly where she'd hoped to, just in time to see her jet fly overhead, landing close by. She staggers as she jogs to the aircraft, it's tiny and quiet. The back opens for her, and she climbs inside. As the door closes, she sees the building open, four figures running out of the door. Then she's in the air.
Tony's voice fills the plane,
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah. I'm fine."
There's silence for a moment as she sits back into her seat, leaning her head back on the cushions,
"It's five hours to London, try and get some sleep."
Hermione nods absently, maybe sleep is exactly what she needs.
Bucky's still running towards the jet as it starts to come off the ground, moving quicker than he ever had before, but he was still too late. She was gone.
Shuri had given them all a royal dressing down, so had T'Challa.
He hadn't meant to hurt her, not ever. But he'd been so angry. So angry.
Shuri's voice was sharp,
"Not one of you stopped to think that she's still running on war instincts. It's been a week for all of you, you've all had time to relax, to come to terms with winning, but she hasn't. To her? Yesterday, she was fighting to the death; she was being tortured into fricking insanity. Yes, her idea sucked. Yes, she likely would have been seriously hurt, if not killed by her own plan, but not one of you stopped to actually look at her! She's clearly struggling, and the people who should be supporting her, just attacked her sense of self!"
Steve had tried to rebut her,
"Shuri, we didn't say anything horrible-"
T'Challa had cut in,
"You called her reckless, stupid, suicidal and uncaring of your opinions. But no, you weren't horrible. You could have called her a burden, it would have hurt less. She's locked herself in her room, probably feeling very alone and abandoned. But at least you weren't mean to her."
Then he'd stormed off, and Bucky's heart had dropped. He was right, none of them knew how she was feeling, how she was coping.
And he'd hurt her, but she was still trying in her own weird way to protect him.
And now she'd flown away,
"Get hold of Stark, find out where she's gone."
He barks the order at Steve as he paces on the grass, she shouldn't be alone. Hermione hated being alone, she was afraid of loneliness.
Luna and Harry were supporting each other. They'd seen the change in Hermione, the echoes of darkness that wouldn't let go of their friend. And they'd still attacked her, even when her face was begging them to stop.
Steve had pulled his phone out, pressing the button for Tony, who picked up on the first ring,
"Cap, how you doing?"
Steve sighs,
"Where's she going, Tony?"
There's a pause,
"She didn't tell you? I wonder why that is."
"Tony, please, just tell us where she's going."
"London, England. That's all I know. I've already sent out the jet for your merry band of idiots. It'll be there in an hour."
"An hour!?"
Steve can almost hear the smug tone in Stark's voice,
"Giving our girl a head start. Find her, fix your issues, bring her back. Understand?"
Steve hangs the phone up, looking out at the others, who are staring at him expectantly,
"She's gone to London."
Harry slumps,
"You don't think she's handing herself in?"
Shuri's voice cuts across the cold night air,
"Don't be an idiot. You already sent that plan up in flames. Luna, if you were feeling afraid, alone and hurt where would you go?"
Luna blinks, obviously not expecting to be singled out,
"I'd go to my Daddy."
Bucky sighs, rubbing his eyes,
"So, she's going home?"
Harry frowns,
"But her parents are gone, I don't understand?"
Shuri sighs,
"Honestly! She's going home, probably. She's going to the one place in the world that still holds only good memories. Somewhere, I would guess, that she thinks she'll find herself."
Bucky swings his metal fist at a tree, watching the bark splinter. Guilt had risen up his chest, lighting a fire in his brain.
"Do we know where her home is?"
When no one answers, he growls. Steve puts a hand on his shoulder, pulling his phone back out,
"I'll ask Sharon for the address."
Bucky nods, ignoring the growing fear in his chest. For the first time in seventy years, he prayed. He prayed that he hadn't ruined what they had before it begun, and he prayed that she would be okay until he got there.
Hermione awoke to a scream, and it took her a few moments to realise that it was coming from her. She'd had a nightmare featuring black hair and rotted teeth.
She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, her chest felt heavy again, but there was light coming from the windows now. She glanced at her phone, she'd woken with minutes to spare. It was almost nine am, and the jet was descending into a field for landing.
She straightened herself out, holding onto the chair as the jet shook with the landing. She grabbed her bag and wand, casting a disillusion spell on herself, feeling the icy tickle on her spine as her body faded into the background. The door of the jet opened and she stepped out slowly, taking time to get her bearings. She took a deep breath of the clean air, letting it fill her lungs.
Then she turned with a crack, apparating into the shed in her back garden.
The shed was filled with dust, it was small and cramped, a lawnmower in one corner and a table behind her with a half empty can of now moulding paint. It was exactly as she'd pictured it.
She unlocked the door with a simple Alohamora, stepping out into an overgrown garden that she almost didn't recognise. The grass had grown up past her knees, and was filled with weeds and wildflowers. The patio had also sprouted weeds, but it was the house itself that made her pause.
The walls were singed black, the windows had been blown out and part of the roof had collapsed. The back door was blown off its hinges and her hand gripped her wand tighter as she stepped forward.
The back door led to a kitchen. Growing up, the kitchen had been a soft green, like a forest, with white cupboard and appliances. An old oak table had been pushed against one wall with enough chairs for the three of them to enjoy their meals together. There had been photos on the walls from their holiday to Spain when Hermione had been nine.
Now, the room was splattered with black and red. The cupboards had been burned from the walls, the table had been shattered, no longer standing. Bits of chairs littered the once marble floor. Dust coated it all.
The photos had been burned away.
She moved slowly, fingering the wall as she moved into the hallway. The halls had been white, with their handprints going around the wall as a border; they'd done it when Hermione had come home from school crying, around five years old. Her father's hands had been blue, her mother's pink and hers had been silver. Some of the handprints remained, but the walls had been ripped into, revealing the brick underneath. Hermione pushed her hand against her mother's print, pressing herself into the wall for a moment before moving on into the lounge.
This had been a light room; her mother had insisted on a soft gold in here, one wall was wallpapered with pretty, delicate flowers. They'd had a brown leather sofa, a large TV and several bookcases. There was a fire place, a family portrait hanging above it. The portrait had been recent, done after she'd recovered from her injuries before sixth year. She'd worn a red dress, one of her mothers. The portrait was still there, but her face had been slashed out of it. The sofa was over turned and ripped, spilling its stuffing onto the floor. The bookcases had been ransacked and broken, leaving paper trails. The TV had been blown up, and the golden walls were singed. The front window was blown away, the wall with it. Probably how whoever had done this had gotten in.
The word 'Mudblood' had been written in red paint over the wallpaper.
Hermione left the room, walking at a snail's pace as she came to the stairs. Many had been blown away, and it was difficult for her to get up them, she'd had to jump past a few of them.
On the top landing, her room had been blasted completely away, where the hole in the roof had come from, she surmised.
The bathroom had been blown apart, but was still standing. The toilet and bath were shattered.
Her parent's room, though, she'd warded well. They hadn't been able to get in. She could have cried with relief, except, she realised belatedly, she was already crying. Her hands shook as she opened the door. Their room had been beautiful; there was a mural of the pyramids on the back wall, the other walls painted a lovely shade of magnolia. There was a large, cedar dresser and their bed was a kingsize divan with a large headboard that her mother had decorated with diamantes.
She opened their wardrobe, pulling out her mother's favourite red sweater and pulling it to her face, it still smelt like her. Like her perfume. She breathed it in deeply, falling to her knees. She should have guessed that this would happen. She shouldn't have come here.
Her parents were gone, her grandmother was gone, and her childhood home had been raided and blown apart.
There was nothing left of Hermione Granger. Except for the tiny slither that still existed inside of her. The slither that told her to calm down, to think rationally. The building itself could be repaired, some of the memories here still existed and she had intended to sell it anyway.
But she couldn't stop herself from crying, her body heaving as she threw up onto the floor.
The war had taken everything from her. Her family was gone, and she'd pushed her friends away. She'd been held captive for a year, tortured daily to the very brink of insanity and back again, and the only thing she had to show for it, was a warrant for her arrest.
What had she been thinking?
There was nothing in the Wizarding world here that was worth trying to fix. She'd given it everything. Everything she had. And still, she sat here alone. She'd missed her own parent's funeral for this stupid war.
Her magic rippled under her skin, blasting out from her body, making the stereo turn itself on. Her mother favourite music started playing, a stupid group named Westlife. Hermione had grown up with this album, she'd sung along to it with her mother as they'd baked. Well, her mother had baked. Hermione wasn't allowed after she burned pasta.
She'd danced with her mother to this album while they'd cleaned, her chore had been dusting and she'd enjoyed doing the ironing. They'd blasted this album, The Love Album on repeat while they'd worked.
Now, though, all it did was fill her with pain. It suddenly hit her that she'd never do that again, her mother would never dance, never sing again. Hermione pulled the red jumper to her face, screaming into it as she collapsed to the floor.
She screamed so loud that she couldn't hear the music.
When the scream ended, it turned into choked sobbing.
She'd have been better off with the dementors.
She heard footsteps downstairs, and she rose on unsteady feet, rage burning through her veins as she walked out of her parent's room. In the landing, she noticed that her mother's wedding dress, which she'd framed with her father's suit and hung on the landing, had been removed from the frame and torn, shredded. She made a note of it as she stood at the top of the stairs, seeing a face that once would have sent her running. She couldn't bring herself to fear him, anymore.
Dolohov stood there, a wicked grin on his face,
"Hello, Muddy. I knew you'd come back, eventually."
She raised her wand at him,
"Confringo."
He batted it away with a wicked laugh,
"And she wants to play!"
His wand lights up as she casts a shield, his spell, the purple beam that had almost killed her once, fizzling away. She threw a blasting hex, hitting his other arm and making him yelp. He turns to her with a furious gaze,
"You'll pay for that."
She throws another, this time aiming for his head, but he ducks, making it miss him by an inch. She's angry, she's hurt, and her spells are packing a bigger punch, so when she hits him with an expelliarmus, his whole body is blown backwards and into a wall. He laughs up at her,
"Like what we did to your house?"
He throws a slicing hex, it hits her arm but she pays it no mind, firing curse after curse at him. He's only toying with her, playing for time.
She summons her magic from inside her, swelling it into her fingers as she screams,
"BOMBARDA!"
He only just manages to roll out of the way on time, flinging a ball of fire at her that hits her legs; she puts it out with an agaumenti, before she turns back to him,
"Defodio."
"Well, Kitty has certainly grown real claws now. But even the Great Hermione Granger must know that she's not got a chance in hell of surviving this?"
"You talk too much," She sneers as she fires off another hex, this one hits and makes his clothes shrink against him, cutting off his blood circulation.
He fires a green light that makes her duck down, narrowly avoiding the beam. She grabs a chunk of wood, throwing it hard at the man; it hits him in the face, with a sharp crack that splits his skin. While he's slightly dazed, she fires roped at him, ripping his wand from him in the process. The ropes wrap tightly around him and she jumps down the stairs, limping towards him with a furious purpose,
"You disgust me. You think my blood is dirty? You filthy, inbred monster of a boy. I could kill you where you stand right now."
He laughs, coughing up spots of blood,
"Go on then, Golden Girl. If you think you have what it takes."
She raises her wand to his face, a burning fury in her veins, and then she catches sight of herself in a mirror. Her clothes are dirty and bloodied, her hair is frazzled and bushy around her head, but it's the hard, dead look in her face that catches her attention and she turns back to him, backing up slightly,
"I don't know who I am, you're lot has seen to that. But I know what I'm not."
"And what's that?"
"I'm not you."
And she lowers her wand, sinking to her knees as he laughs,
"You're weak, is what you are."
She ignores him,
"I'll get out of this, and I'll kill you."
She looks up at him, spitting at his face,
"You keep telling yourself that. You've tried twice now, and failed both times."
She bound him tighter, wrapping a scarf into his mouth to keep the man silent. Then she aimed a swift kick into his ribs, making him groan,
"And that was for my home."
She hears a car pull up outside, and then the slamming of a door. Then there's that voice, the voice that she's been longing and dreading to hear,
"Hermione?!"
She knows that he can't see her, and he can't see the house, but she's scrambling over rubble to reach the hole in the front of her house, ignoring the still bleeding wound on her arm as she pulls herself over a pile of stone and brick, staring out into the street. She grips the wall for support when she spots him; he's standing tall, his eyes scanning the area as the taxi speeds away, his broad shoulders tense, ready for anything. She knows, if she stays within the wards, he'd never find her, but when he calls again, her resolve breaks,
"Hermione?!"
She's too selfish to ignore him anymore, she needs him. And her traitorous feet are moving before she's even decided to go, anyway. She's limping as she runs at him, feeling herself cross the wards and knowing the exact moment that he spots her, because his resolve also seems to leave him and he's sprinting at her, their two bodies smashing together as she throws her arms around his neck and he picks her up, crushing her to his chest as he falls to his knees,
"I am so sorry, Hermione, I am so sorry. Please, please forgive me."
She can't even talk as she sobs into him, clutching him tighter than she'd thought she was capable of, her small body shaking almost violently in his arms.
He's rubbing her back,
"I've got you, I'm right here and I've got you, it's going to be okay."
He reluctantly pulls back, looking her over with concern in his gaze. When he spots her arm, his breath catches and she flinches, instantly breaking his anger,
"I'm not mad at you, Doll, what happened?"
She rises to shaking feet, not trusting herself to speak. She takes his hand in hers, she pulls him through the wards and she sobs again when he growls,
"Is this recent?"
She shakes her head, no, this damage wasn't new. He takes her face in his hands, kneeling down to be eye level,
"Hermione, Doll, I don't understand. I need you to tell me what's going on in that big brain of yours."
He wipes her tears with his thumb, his heart beating painfully against his chest. His girl was falling apart, and he was trying desperately to hold her together.
"I-I- It was like this when I got here, the death eaters, they must have come here after I left two years ago. They've destroyed it, Bucky, my parents' home, my home, it's gone. It's all gone. They're gone and you were gone and-"
He pulls her into his chest again, holding her tightly as she sobs into his chest. He didn't know what to say.
"D-Dolohov is inside, I bound him."
He frowns,
"Who is Dolohov?"
A man steps into his view, a crazed look in his eye and one broken arm, the other holding a wand that's pointed right at Bucky,
"That would be me, Sunshine."
Hermione's on her feet in an instant, wand raised. Bucky rises slower, he's unarmed.
Dolohov throws off a curse, but Hermione shields him, her magic is shaky but strong, and she's almost sparking with rage, making Dolohov laugh maniacally,
"Accio Muggle."
Bucky decides he doesn't much like the pull of that spell, his body being flung around like a ragdoll until he's being held at wand point by a psychopath. Hermione bristles, her eyes hardening in a way that made even Bucky feel slightly afraid of the witch.
"Let him go."
Dolohov laughs again,
"Or what, Muddy? Going to rope me up again? Cry to your dead mummy some more?"
Hermione's firing spells before the sentence ends, a cacophony of colours erupting from her wand. Dolohov has to throw up a hasty shield as Hermione walks closer, continuing to fire spell after spell at the crazy man,
"I've almost killed you before, Muddy, now I need to finish the job. But, maybe I'll start with the muggle. Reckon I could get a good price for this pretty arm of his-"
A jet of red light makes the shield explode, sending Bucky to the floor and Dolohov into a wall.
Hermione's panting, her magical core is being tested and Bucky knows she can't go much longer without a break, and she's looking at him when a yellow curse sends her soaring through a wall, landing with a sickly crunch on the floor. Bucky sees red.
He's on his feet in seconds, using his metal arm to choke the Russian wizard, but he's pushed backwards by a red light, and his nerves are on fire, his organs splitting and a pained scream rips through his mouth.
Hermione hears Bucky scream, and despite the pain running through her she finds herself on her feet, her eyes narrowing as she raises her wand, ignoring the blood on her fingers, she looks at Dolohov, at the sight of him torturing her Bucky, and a red light flashes through the air, blood squirts out of Dolohov's throat and his body crumples to the floor.
For a moment, she wants nothing more than to burn her wand and throw up all over the ground, but then she remembers Bucky, who had been writhing on the floor. She pushes herself to him, her knees buckling as she reaches him,
"Bucky? M-My Bucky?"
She gently picks his head up, putting it on her lap delicately. She brushes his hair off his face, which is still contorted with pain,
"I-I've got you, Bucky, I'm so sorry, if I hadn't been distracted, he wouldn't have gotten you. But I have some potions and when you're ready, they'll help you. I got you."
Bucky groans, slowly opening his eyes,
"Hermione? Are you okay?"
She almost wants to strangle him,
"You've just been tortured, and you're asking if I'm okay?"
Bucky pulls himself up, into a sitting position to look her over, his eyes widening,
"What happened to you? What was that spell?"
She's still looking him over, ignoring the black spots in her vision,
"You-you need a muscle relaxer, I need to go get my bag, I'll be right back."
She stands, her legs are shaking, especially down her right side, but she limps over to the damaged staircase, hauling herself up the first few steps. She's dizzy by the time she reaches the spot where the stairs start disappearing and she grips the bannister hard, stretching her legs to try and get past the gap. When her foot makes contact with the step three steps away, she hauls herself, almost throwing her body up past the gap. Her grip on the bannister fails when her vision hazes, exhaustion, hunger and pain are making moving difficult, but she pushes herself forward, determined to help him.
She feels his hand on her back, pushing her firmly onto the steps before he jumps past the gap, helping her to the top of the stairs and she smiles goofily at him,
"You are being very naughty, Mister Barnes. I need to get you your medicine, go lay back down on the floor where I left you, you little cutie." Her words are slurring and she uses the wall to balance herself as she ambles into her parents' room, where she'd left the bag. Bucky is behind her, she thinks he might be talking but she's not sure. Her knees buckle when she reaches her bag, and she decides that sitting down would be better anyway.
She yanks the bag open, using the last reserves of her magic to summon the muscle relaxer and she thrusts the potion into Bucky's hand,
"Drink this, please, now."
She watches as he pops the cap, drinking it down in one long gulp.
She watches his new twin do it too.
"Hermione? Hermione, Doll, talk to me."
She looks up at him, blinking rapidly to try and focus on him,
"You really are a pretty man, Bucky."
But Bucky isn't smiling, he reaches out to her and she flops herself into his arms,
"I should send you away," She murmurs into his arm,
"And why would you want to do that?"
"Because you deserve better, so much better, than to keep looking after me. Y-You should go. I got you hurt."
Bucky is shaking his head, an angry frown on his face,
"I'm not leaving you now, Doll. I need to know how to help you. What did his spell do?"
"Need a pain potion. Red liquid in my bag. Please."
He nods, grabbing the small bag and flinging various books and clothes out of it,
"When we're both feeling better, you and I are going to have a long talk about hoarding." He grumbles as he pulls a brick from the bag.
Hermione leans her head against the wall, watching him,
"I'm really sorry that you got hurt."
His eyes flicker to hers briefly,
"We'll talk about that, too."
When he finally pulls the vial out, she's almost dozing,
"Hermione, Doll, you gotta wake up for me, I need you to take this potion."
She gingerly takes it from him, downing the potion in a single gulp. It takes a moment to start working, but when it does, her body sags with relief.
Bucky looks at her and looks around the room,
"This is where you grew up?"
She nods sluggishly,
"This is my parents' bedroom."
He gets to his feet, looking around. It was the only part of the house that he'd seen which was left un-scathed, probably Hermione's doing. It was tasteful, he decided. He walked over to one of the bedside units, picking up a photo frame. The picture inside showed Hermione and her parents in New York, visiting Peggy in the hospital. She already had the guarded look in her eyes; he guessed this must have been just before she ran away.
He slid the photo into her beaded bag and looked down at her, she was slumped against the wall, all of the fight had left her now and he winced, setting the bag on the bed and sitting down next to her, he hesitantly wraps an arm around her shoulders and she leans into him,
"It's okay to not be okay, Doll."
She looks up at him with a weak smile,
"You were right, Bucky. I am impulsive, reckless, stupid," Her body shakes as she sobs, "I keep getting hurt, and hurting the people around me. You should go."
He holds her tighter,
"I'm not going anywhere, Doll. I'm with you till the end of the line."
Her eyes look so lost when she looks up at him,
"Dolohov came here to kill me. I can't bear the thought that he hurt you."
Bucky puts her small hand into his larger one,
"That curse, that was the torture curse?"
She nods her head and he continues,
"I can't even begin to understand how you went through that every day, and still have the energy to sit here and worry about me. Let me look after you, let me take care of you."
A ball of tension leaves her chest, words spilling from her mouth before she can stop them,
"Bucky, I don't know who I am, or who I was. But I told Dolohov I wasn't a killer, I wasn't evil. I tied him up, I had plans to banish him to the ministry, and then he tortured you and all I could think was 'I'm not a killer, but for him?' and I shot a slicing hex at his throat. I killed for you. Because I couldn't bear to hear you scream. I want, no, I need to look after you, too."
He grips her tighter, pulling her head under his chin,
"Don't ever close me out again, please."
She looks up at him,
"I'm too selfish to keep you away."
He smiles down at her, ignoring his aching limbs as he pulls her onto his lap,
"How are you feeling, physically? Any pain I should be worried about?"
She grumbles something into his shirt,
"I don't speak mumble, Doll."
"I'm hungry." Her voice is quiet and he grins, rolling his eyes at her,
"Well, we can't have that, can we? Let's get you some food and then we'll talk about the next steps. I'm assuming you know somewhere we can go?"
She sighs, standing and look at herself in the mirror. She grabs her beaded bag,
"I need to change, and then we can go to a little café around the corner. They do lovely pastries in there."
A.N. Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Marvel. Please review! Please remember that this doesn't follow canon at all, so some of the characters may behave a bit differently to what you are used to! If anyone wants to design me a cover, please feel free!