Chapter Eleven

A Turn for the Worse

At first, Hermione had no idea what had woken her. There was a faint ache in the side of her neck from sleeping wrong, a swirl of nausea in the pit of her stomach—that she felt sure could only be a reaction to the tense situation as it would be too early for her to have morning sickness if it turned out she were with child, after all—and the hushed murmur of angry voices just outside the door. Any of them could be what had tugged her unwillingly from an only mildly restful sleep, or it could be the combination of the three.

Swallowing down the sick feeling of water gathering in the back of her mouth, she pushed back her covers and scrambled out of bed. Aware it was now quite early in the morning, and the conversation was likely not meant for her ears, she carefully padded her way to the door on quiet, bare footfalls.

"I don't understand." There was Professor McGonagall's voice, low yet sharp. "Your partner has, what? Simply vanished?!"

Hermione's heart plunged into her stomach.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am, I haven't the foggiest idea what happened. I was returning from my rounds to switch-off guard duty and she started her patrols and then . . . ." Hermione imagined the man shrugging. His voice was strained, panicked. "She never returned. I put extra wards on the girl's door, retraced Mirna's footsteps, but she was simply gone."

"What the bloody hell is happening?" The headmistress said in a hissing whisper. "First Greyback getting loose, stalking my students, then a possible werewolf baby, and now this? I'll contact the Ministry straight away to send a temporary replacement for Miss Shaw and perhaps some more hands to help search for her. In the meantime, please, Mr. Rusk, would you go down into the dungeons and fetch Mr. Malfoy from his dormitory? Accept no arguments from him. Until this is sorted, we will be keeping them both under watch."

The Auror started, "But, Headmistress, staying separate from her was Mr. Malfoy's ide—"

"Yes, and we were foolish to permit him to make any decisions in the first place! If trained aurors are in danger, who's to say any of us are truly safe?"

Professor McGonagall sounded so angry with herself that Hermione found her own heart hurting on the elder witch's behalf. They all knew the true reason behind Draco declining such protections. He'd believed—as they all had—that, despite his declarations of ownership, Hermione was the sole target of Greyback's intentions. At the time, no one had reason to suspect otherwise.

"My students do not make the rules within these walls, Mr. Rusk, I do. You will go to the dungeons and retrieve Mr. Malfoy. Now."

Hermione could picture the Auror swallowing hard and bowing his head as he responded in a contrite tone, "Yes, Ma'am, of course."

A few heartbeats ticked past. Hermione only heard the faint, retreating echo of footsteps against stone.

"You heard all that, didn't you?"

The younger witch nearly jumped as she realized Professor McGonagall was speaking to her. Her shoulders sagging, she pulled open the door just a little, enough to find her favorite teacher staring at her, eyes full of sympathy and expectation.

Holding in a sigh, Hermione opened the door wide, allowing the other woman to enter the room. "How did you know I was listening?"

A gentle, near-motherly smile curved Professor McGonagall's lips as she stepped inside. "Because of how much you remind me of myself when I was younger, my dear."

Hermione sat down heavily in the armchair by the fireplace as the elder witch shut the door. "Do you think Greyback took her? The other auror?"

"I can't be sure," McGonagall said, exhaling a weighted breath. "It's entirely possible. Her rounds did include the castle grounds. He perhaps could've taken her in a hope to get inside, or to get information about where we're keeping you. Or . . . ."

Hermione very much did not like that 'or'. She echoed the word, her breath held in her chest.

"He could perhaps be thinking to exchange her for you."

Her eyes drifted closed. Hermione did not want to think of someone being tortured on her behalf just because a sick creature like Fenrir Greyback couldn't get what he wanted.

"Headmistress!" Auror Rusk's voice thundered through the door mere seconds before t came flying open. In he walked on hurried steps. "He's gone!"

"What?"

Hermione felt herself go very still, her attention honing in on Rusk's face as Professor McGonagall demanded to know what happened.

"There appears to have been a struggle. There were things fallen, overturned. And . . . this." Rusk produced Draco's wand from the folds of his robes.

Sooner than she could stop herself, Hermione was out of the armchair and across the room. Her wand at the ready in her right hand and her left forearm braced against the man's throat, she pressed. Her lips were pulled back from her teeth in a feral expression. "You let him take Draco?!"

Caught entirely off-guard by her actions, Rusk belatedly drew his wand. Yet, the moment he pointed it at the young woman, Professor McGonagall made a delicate throat-clearing sound. He turned to look and found the headmistress had not even drawn her wand. In fact, she looked entirely nonplussed by this entire thing.

"We won't get anywhere acting rashly. Let's all put down our wands. Mr. Rusk? Miss Granger?"

Hermione turned her head over her shoulder to look at McGonagall. She not even realized what she'd done—how aggressively she'd reacted.

Forcing a gulp down her throat, she nodded and relinquished her hold of the auror, her wand arm lowering to her side.

She looked from Professor McGonagall to Mr. Rusk, and back. "I'm . . . ." She swallowed again, this time shaking her head. "I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me."

Professor McGonagall offered an understanding expression. "One problem at a time. We have two people missing, and a dangerous werewolf on the loose. Protecting you is a priority, but I think we've also reached a point where we'll also need your assistance, at least until reinforcements can arrive from the Ministry."

Hermione nodded. "Of course. I'll do whatever I must."

Minerva McGonagall nodded reassuringly. She kept to herself that she felt certain that the behavior, however momentary, she and Mr. Rusk had just witnessed confirmed their suspicions far better than any medical exam could. Miss Granger's aggression, her protectiveness . . . .

That had definitely all been the response of her wolf's blood to the thought that her mate—to the gut-deep awareness that the father of her child—was in danger.