A/N: If you haven't read 'Inescapable' please read that first. This story won't make much sense otherwise. For those who have already read Inescapable, welcome back! I hope you enjoy the second part of the story.
Inevitable by DMHP2014
~ A Prologue of Sorts ~
If someone had told Hermione that she would be fighting in a war for years with no end in sight, she wouldn't have believed them.
If someone had told her that the world she knew and loved would cease to exist, leaving behind only rot and ruin in its wake, she would have snorted and told them to stop being ridiculous.
Back then she was young and so foolishly naive, it never once occurred to her that they wouldn't win the war against Voldemort. She didn't think for a second that they would be anything other than the crowned victors, conquerors of evil, saviours of the wizarding world. And why would she? Everything had gone so smoothly.
At least, looking back it seemed that way.
Hermione, Harry and Ron had found and destroyed all the remaining Horcruxes in less than a year - nine months and two days to be exact. From the day they disapparated from Bill and Fleur's wedding on 1st August 1997 - after it was ambushed by Death Eaters, to the day they arrived back at Hogwarts castle on 2nd May 1998, in search of Rowena Ravenclaw's lost diadem - the fifth and second to last Horcrux... or so they'd thought.
Voldemort and his army of followers had turned up and stormed the castle grounds, demanding that Harry surrender himself or suffer the consequences. Hermione watched helplessly as terror and chaos swept through the halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, unsure how to quell the growing hysteria. After a vicious battle that culminated with them losing family and friends alike, Harry, being Harry, had done just that - he surrendered - the pain of losing Fred, Remus and Tonks proving to be too much.
He managed to slip away from Hermione and Ron as they stood vigil over the fallen in the Great Hall, and he walked into the Forbidden Forrest to submit to the would-be-tyrant, not in fear but despair. Hermione understood why he did it, he couldn't bear to lose another loved one, but that didn't stop her from resenting him, resenting that he sacrificed himself, for what? So that they may live one more day? A week? A month? It wasn't worth it. His life was just as important as anyone else's, but of course he'd never believed that. He'd always blamed himself for Voldemort's actions.
Hermione would later learn that it didn't matter that Harry had sacrificed himself, he had to die in order for Voldemort to be killed. He'd learned as much from the memory Snape had given him as the professor bled out on the floor, moments after Voldemort discovered his deep-rooted treachery and set Nagini on him. As it turned out, there weren't six Horcruxes as they'd originally thought, but seven. Harry was the one they hadn't accounted for.
Harry walked into the Forbidden Forest with his head held high, his dead loved ones there with him every step of the way, creating a protective circle around him - thanks to the resurrection stone – Hermione imagined that he welcomed death like an old friend. Death that had followed him since that fateful night in Godric's Hollow, where, as a baby, he defied all odds and survived the killing curse and became The Boy Who Lived.
Nobody knew what happened after Voldemort's killing curse hit Harry for the second time in his young life, for Harry to this day has never divulged what actually happened or how he came back, only that he did die - along with the Horcrux inside him. He wouldn't even tell Hermione and Ron. Hermione would never stop wondering what happened, wondering why Harry got that far-off look on his face anytime she brought it up, even years after. But he survived, and that's really all that mattered.
For a short while, Harry pretended to be dead and allowed himself to be paraded around to cheers from the Death Eaters and howls of devastation from his friends and family. Hermione had believed Harry dead just like everyone else had, and the pain of seeing him limp in Hagrid's arms had been all-consuming, something she'd never forget for as long as she lived.
It was then that Neville Longbottom stepped forward, looking defiant and brave beyond his years, as he stood up to Voldemort, the Sword of Gryffindor gripped tightly in his hand.
Hermione had tensed, panic surging through her, as Voldemort laughed in the face of what he called a 'stupid and foolish child'. She almost agreed with him, because what match was Neville against Voldemort? Of course, Neville had proved them wrong when he swept the sword up in a broad arc and brought it back down with a cry of rage, slicing clean-through Nagini who was hanging protectively from Voldemort's neck. The snakes head flew through the air with impressive speed, Voldemort's bellow of outrage the only sound as it hit the floor with a dull, wet thud.
Unbeknownst to Neville, he had just destroyed the final Horcrux.
Harry chose that moment to jump from Hagrid's arms, a bellow of fury tearing from his throat. Hermione's shriek of surprise drowned out by the other gasps and shocked screams echoing around the courtyard.
And this is where it should have ended. This was the point where the light was supposed to claim victory over the dark. But it all went so terribly wrong.
Harry lifted his wand to Voldemort, the killing curse on the tip of his tongue, and Voldemort... Voldermort just vanished. Disapparated on the spot.
No one could believe it, especially Hermione, who had been only a few meters away and saw the precise moment he vanished. They all stood there in stunned silence, as Voldemort's followers began disapparating one after the other.
Voices murmured their disbelief - "What happened?" "Where's he gone?" "Coward!". It was incomprehensible. Voldemort had been after Harry for so long. Why flee now and make himself look like a coward? It didn't make any sense.
Hermione walked towards Harry, shock and confusion marring her features, to find him staring at the spot where Voldermort had been, his expression eerily blank. He turned to Hermione then with green eyes as desolate as she'd ever seen them and uttered words that sent a cold chill down her spine.
"I was warned. He warned me... That was my only chance. It is out of my hands now. We will all suffer for my failure. Torture and suffering are all they'll know... All we'll know. And it's all my fault."
Hermione had blinked, several questions bubbling to the surface of her mind - who warned you? When? Who will suffer? What are you talking about? But she didn't voice any of them, not at that moment. Instead, she held her friend as he wept, not quite understanding the depth of his despair, yet it terrified her all the same. She had never seen Harry like that, so… defeated. Despite everything that had happened to him throughout his life, he had always managed to remain somewhat optimistic, the strong one. Why was he talking like it was over? Like they'd lost? They had destroyed all the Horcruxes. The hard part was done. All they had left to do was hunt down Voldemort and send him to the grave.
Regret ate away at her in the years to follow for not demanding that he tell her there and then who'd warned him, and why it was his only chance because, later, whenever she asked him, Harry would claim to not know what she was talking about. He would say he never said such a thing and would gaze at her like she was crazy or making it up. The more she pestered him, the more he would withdraw and refuse to talk. The worst part of all was that she knew he was lying... he was lying to her, to everyone, she just couldn't understand why.
After the Failed Battle of Hogwarts, Harry didn't talk to anyone for two months straight, not a single word. He holed himself up in his room at 12 Grimmauld Place and refused to speak, and only ate when Hermione, Ron or Ginny would force food down his throat.
The Order of the Phoenix searched high and low for Voldemort, but he was nowhere to be found. It really was like he'd disappeared.
For months everything was quiet, eerily so. Everything went back to normal, shops reopened, they started to rebuild, and all seemed to be business as usual. But they were all kidding themselves. Voldemort may have vanished, but he wasn't dead, he was still out there, somewhere. Some people would whisper their fears and others would outright claim he wasn't coming back, that he was too scared. Despite the ones that tried to quell the slowly growing panic, there was still an ever-present feeling of dread hanging over the United Kingdom. Even though they tried to stay in high spirits, its residents couldn't help but worry about if - when - Voldemort would strike again.
They didn't have to wait long.
Six months later darkness swept the entirety of Great Britain, bringing with it horrors too terrible to speak of. Voldemort and his army of Death Eaters - which had grown in strength and size – appeared seemingly out of nowhere on a cold December day – a Wednesday, if Hermione remembered correctly. This time, they didn't hold back. Death and destruction raged for a whole year - mass executions, whole suburbs burned to the ground - while Voldemort tore down the old to rebuild the new. A new world as he saw fit, where "purebloods" were treated as Gods, half-bloods were tolerated, and muggles and muggle-borns alike were tortured and killed or forced into slavery. They didn't stand a chance and it broke Hermione's heart. Voldemort was more brutal and ruthless than they'd ever seen him. He slaughtered and maimed without blinking an eye, all the while a cruel smile curling his lips. It wasn't even about Harry anymore. It was like he'd realised going after Harry would be his downfall, so he'd taken the six months to re-evaluate and plan, recruit new members and build an uncompromising army. He hit back at Harry and the Order of the Phoenix harder than ever by going after the vulnerable. He hit in several places at once, making it impossible for them to fight back and stop what was happening.
It was their worst fears made flesh. Hermione could still smell the stench of burning and rotting bodies years later, the kind of smell that brought you to your knees and made you empty your stomach.
No other countries came to aid Britain. Every single one turned a blind eye after Voldemort promised he'd come for them next if they interfered. And so they didn't, they stayed far away. They left the residents of the United Kingdom to rot in what they called the ruin of their own making, as they blamed them for not bringing Voldemort to justice before it was too late. The borders were closed and no one was allowed in or out. No planes, no ships, no apparating, nothing.
They were trapped inside a war-torn country. The purebloods set up home in several of the major cities - London, Birmingham, Manchester, Leeds and Glasgow - at the behest of King Voldemort, and the rest was dubbed the Wastelands.
The Wastelands was where Hermione and the others who'd managed to escape hid, that included muggles, muggle-borns and traitors. For a while, Voldemort sent his Death Eaters into the Wastelands to try and hunt them all down, exterminate them. Then one day it just stopped, the Death Eaters retreated and Hermione was left wondering, just like everyone else, what had happened. Several rumours bounced around, but only one of them was consistent - Voldemort had finally tired of them. He didn't see them as a threat and as such wouldn't be pursuing them anymore.
Lucky?
Some of them thought so but it soon became evident that luck didn't play any part in it.
A magic-blocker was cast over the Wastelands, preventing any witch or wizard from wielding magic of any sort. They quickly learned not to even attempt magic, for to do so would be like signing a death sentence. There had also been a detection charm put in place and one measly attempt at a spell would have Death Eater's breathing down their necks between one heartbeat and the next.
Voldemort may have left them alone to live their pathetic lives, but he wouldn't allow them to use magic. In his eyes, they weren't worthy of the privilege and had to die if they dared to defy him. So they had all learned to fend for themselves the muggle way.
For some, like Hermione, it was easy, almost like slipping on a pair of old, worn gloves. For others, like the Weasleys, it was hard, and for a time they struggled to adapt.
What was left of the Order of the Phoenix set up their Head Quarters on a huge abandoned estate fifty miles out of the perimeter of London, the perimeter Voldemort had set, which included many towns like Croydon, Twickenham, Dartford and Guildford.
London was huge now, five times the size it used to be. Towns and villages didn't exist anymore. There were just the five cities, where walls had been erected and enforced by magic to keep any unwanted visitors out. There was twenty-four-hour security on the few entrances, making it near-impossible to get inside. The Order did their best to help anyone in need, whilst also trying to gather information on what was happening behind the wall.
All five cities were the same - same walls, same security. Hermione had been on several missions where they had tried to infiltrate them, London, in particular, as that's where they suspected Voldemort had settled. Despite their repeat failures, they weren't giving up, they would keep fighting and trying to bring Voldemort down until their last, dying breath.
This was their life now. Searching for food in abandoned shopping centres, growing what they could. Scouting the wastelands to help where needed. Offering supplies to those who were unable to venture far themselves. Recruiting able fighters.
Hermione would occasionally go on missions, but she preferred to spend her time researching, that was where she was most helpful. They didn't have many magical books, only what they'd managed to take with them when the plague had struck - that's what they called the early days, the plague. Every so often they would find more books when the scouts happened upon a Witch or Wizards house that had been abandoned.
They learned to adapt. They learned to survive. They never gave up.
~ Chapter 1 ~
Five and a half years after the astronomy tower - Year: 2002...
Hermione woke to the distant sounds of cheering.
Cheering?
She frowned, lifted her head and straightened, her back protesting at the sudden movement. It took her a moment to sort through her thoughts and take in her surroundings.
She was in the Hub, sat at one of the desks, the book she'd been reading - Shields, Wards and Protective Enchantments by Felicity O'Pry - still open in front of her.
Shit, she'd fallen asleep again. This was the fifth night in a row that she'd spent slumped in an uncomfortable chair.
Hermione rubbed at her tired eyes and glanced around the large room, wondering if anyone else had fallen asleep last night. She and some of the other Researchers had been poring over the books that had been recovered a few weeks prior from a house in, what used to be, the lovely city of Winchester. But she was alone, which meant they had either been sensible and gone to bed when they'd felt themselves nodding off, or had already woken up in a similar state as Hermione and left to find out what all the racket was about. She should probably do the same, for the noise did seem to be getting louder by the second, but she was tired and aching all over. A few more minutes wouldn't do any harm. Besides, the sounds weren't screams for help - in fact, they were rather jubilant.
Hermione rolled her left shoulder and reached for the glass that had about two fingers of water left in it. She drained it in one, her thirst not ebbing in the slightest. She hoped that someone had been to fetch more water from the nearby stream, and furthermore, had the foresight to filter it. Hermione had drunk unfiltered water from the stream only once in the time she had been there, something she would never do again. The memories of how sick she'd been still gave her shivers. It was in those moments that the loss of magic was unbearable. It was hard enough at the best of times, but when you saw someone suffering and you knew a simple spell or potion could fix them right up, it made the whole thing seem so much worse. It didn't help that they were short on muggle medical supplies, either, because even without magic, muggle medicine was better than nothing at all.
These thoughts soured her already tempestuous mood and she gritted her teeth angrily. They had lost too many witches, wizards, men, women and children to injuries and illnesses. Injuries and illnesses they should have been able to heal or cure in a heartbeat without much effort. It was a sore subject among the community, one that bred bitterness and anger more than any of the other challenges they were facing - had been facing, for years now.
Hermione sighed deeply and tried to push the toxic thoughts away. There was no use dwelling on the unfortunate aspects of their situation. Hermione and the others found it was better - wiser and more productive - to try and stay positive and focus on what they did have, instead. For instance, at least for the time being, they had their lives and a roof over their heads. That certainly counted for something, especially when there was a time, a few years back, when every time they went to sleep they were almost certain they wouldn't live to see the sunrise the next morning. Being in that mindset for months on end definitely put things into perspective.
In the early days of the plague, Voldemort's Death Eaters had hunted them day and night for close to five months. Hermione didn't like to think of those days, whenever she did, the memories took her to a dark place in her mind, a place that rotted and festered and shrouded her in misery. Of course, Voldemort eventually got bored and left them alone... he got bored. Bored of hunting them down and enslaving or slaughtering them as if the whole thing were some sort of game. Hermione supposed it was to him. It made her sick to think about it.
Thankfully those days were over.
As soon as Voldemort and his Death Eaters retreated behind their towering walls, the Order of the Phoenix commandeered a Manor in Cholderton, Salisbury. It was as close to the wall of London they were willing to live, whilst still feeling comfortable and somewhat safe. So yes, after everything they'd been through, a roof over their head was a blessing, and one they didn't take for granted. And, yes, they may not have magic to heal their wounds or cure their illnesses anymore, but they were thankful for the life they did have, the life that still ran through their veins despite everything that had happened to them.
They were survivors. Not quitters.
As for the manor, they couldn't have asked for anything more. It was huge, with fourteen bedrooms and seven reception rooms. They'd managed to convert the bedrooms to sleep six people apiece, and five out of the seven reception rooms had also been converted into sleeping quarters, each one slept around twenty people. These days, what with newcomers seeking refuge, it was rather cramped, but they made it work. The larger and remaining two reception rooms were turned into common areas, that's where they mostly ate and socialised, but on warm summer days, they all preferred to go outside and spend time in the gardens. There was a giant kitchen, which only kitchen staff were allowed to enter, and the Hub, where the Order of Phoenix worked, planned and strategised.
The Hub was in the very centre of the manor and was where Hermione spent most of her time. Only higher members of the Order of the Phoenix were permitted access and the doors were guarded twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. It was where they kept their most valuable supplies, books, and information on Voldemort and any happenings behind the walls. Not that they knew an awful lot about what was happening behind the walls, but every so often, they would come into contact with someone out in the wastes who would claim to know something. The Order would take a statement and document it but was yet to prove if any of the statements were actually true. Some of the things that were mentioned in the statements were so outlandish they were hard to believe, and others were downright terrifying.
Hermione had interviewed a woman once who claimed that Voldemort hosted weekly balls for the rich and pure of blood. She said, for entertainment, King Voldemort would have muggles and muggle-borns slowly tortured on stage as the guests ate their canapes and drank their expensive champagne. How the woman knew this, Hermione didn't know. And no matter how hard Hermione tried, she couldn't get a straight answer from her.
Then there was the gentleman who claimed that Voldemort had turned loopy in recent years and barely left his mansion. Apparently, he was gay now, too, and would have male slaves delivered to his room each night to service him. The thought alone was repugnant. She hoped it wasn't true. What kind of state would the poor men be in afterwards? Voldemort was sadistic in every area of his life, she doubted the bedroom was any different. Again, like with the woman, Hermione couldn't get a straight answer from the gentleman as to where he got his information.
It was very strange.
Believe it or not, these were the more mild rumours floating around. There were whispers of things far worse going on behind the walls, things Hermione couldn't think of without feeling sick to her stomach.
Hermione glanced around the Hub, taking in the worn, mismatched desks, tables and chairs. Every available surface, as well as most of the floor, was covered with piles of books, plans and documents, making the place look like a hoarder's dream. The walls where there weren't floor-to-ceiling bookshelves were covered with more plans, maps and diagrams of the five walled cities. Hermione was sure at one point the Hub used to be a very beautiful and grand library, but now it looked more like a cluttered, rundown office space that was trying to imitate MI5 headquarters on a budget. A lot of the books that had originally been housed there were destroyed during the plague, and now it contained mostly books they'd been lucky enough to find over the years. Hermione still had her own personal collection - the books she'd taken with her Horcrux hunting - but she kept them in her room, deep inside her beaded handbag, which, somehow, still held the Undetectable Extension Charm. She'd read through her collection of books several times, and none of them shed any light on how they could bypass the wards that kept the walls around the cities enforced and the residents of the Wastes firmly outside them. As such, she didn't feel bad about keeping her books to herself.
Hermione stretched her neck and let out a low groan when it cracked loudly. She really needed to stop doing this - sleeping in places other than her bed. Her lack of proper sleep and rest was beginning to show in the shadows under her eyes and the pallor of her skin. Pair that with her not having a decent meal in a few weeks and she was looking rather worse for wear. Hermione wasn't the only one looking like death warmed up, it had been a rough month for all of them. Food supplies were at an all-time low. The scouts who went out daily looking for food in abandoned houses, supermarkets and shops - the ones that hadn't been destroyed by the plague - hadn't been able to find anything nearby. Usually, they would jump in one of the vans and head over to the neighbouring towns, but they'd ran out of petrol and were still unable to source some. They had harvested all they could from their meagre vegetable patch, so all in all, they were in pretty bad shape.
There was another sudden shriek of delight, and Hermione's head was whipping around to look at the door.
She sighed heavily. "I suppose it's time to see what all the fuss is about," she muttered to herself.
Hermione closed the book in front of her, and, after running her hands over her black t-shirt and straightening her blue jeans that had bunched funnily around her ankles, she headed to the door.
She nodded to the two guards, Justin Finch-Fletchley and Anthony Goldstein, as she left the Hub.
"Did you fall asleep again, Hermione?" Anthony asked, a small, knowing smile playing at his lips.
"Me?" she mock-gasped. "Never," she glanced at him over her shoulder as she was about to turn the corner and winked.
Hermione heard his soft chuckle as she strode down the impossibly long hallway to the front door.
When she stepped outside into the bright morning light, she was met with complete and utter chaos.
She paused on the wide stone porch, eyes bulging as she tried to take everything in at once. She heard Ginny screeching about something or another, but couldn't locate her in all the madness. She saw Hannah laughing uncontrollably with Alicia. And Neville jumping up and down excitedly on the spot, which was very weird indeed. Every occupant of the house - which was around a hundred and forty people - seemed to be in the driveway. People were running every which way, carrying bags, boxes and crates and yelling at each other in disturbingly loud voices.
Hermione, still unsure about what was going on, reached out and stopped the nearest person to her, which just happened to be Mrs Weasley. "Molly, what on earth is going on?" she asked, thoroughly bewildered.
"Oh, Hermione, dear, there you are," she grabbed Hermione by the shoulders and pulled her into a bone-crushing hug. "The boys finally found us some food, a whole van full! Can you believe it? We're saved! If we're careful, there's enough to last for months!"
Molly released Hermione and turned to yell out an order that the food was to be brought straight to the kitchen and no one was to sample anything. Seeing as she was head of the Kitchen staff, and she was Molly Weasley - everyone knew it was wise not to mess with her - nobody argued.
Quickly, things began to settle down and where there was previously chaos and disarray, order took place.
Hermione watched, stunned, as box after box, crate after crate, the food was carried into the house.
She spotted Dean and Seamus a little ways away, laughing and joking as they unloaded the last of the boxes from the van. She jumped down from the top step of the porch and headed over to them.
As the boys handed the last box to a very jubilant looking Michael Corner, they turned to each other for an enthusiastic high-five, a whoop of glee piercing the air.
"Hermione!" Dean grinned when he noticed her approaching. "I hope you're hungry, there's going to be a feast tonight!" he pulled Seamus into a bear-hug, apparently unable to contain his excitement. "It'll be so huge it'll give Hogwarts a run for its money!"
Hermione swallowed and her stomach let out a low growl of approval. A feast though? The thought was almost inconceivable after a month of scraps. She shook her head, still very much in shock. "I don't understand. How did you find all this?" she asked, taking in the huge van in front of her. "And where did this van come from?"
She'd never seen the red van before, the three vans they had were all white, dirty and falling apart. This one looked nearly brand new. And clean. Too clean. It was strange and left Hermione with an uneasy feeling.
Seamus shrugged as he and Dean jumped down out of the back of the van and slammed the double doors shut. "It's the weirdest thing," he began, taking the proffered rag from Dean and wiping the sweat from his brow. "As you know, we planned to set out early this morning and walk to the next town over, looking for petrol in abandoned cars."
Hermione nodded, she remembered having the conversation yesterday morning before she was called into the Hub.
"Well, we were about half an hour into our trek, hadn't even left the main road yet, and there it was, pulled up on the curb," Seamus let out a short bark of a laugh and threw the rag back at Dean. "I couldn't believe my eyes. It was just sitting there, keys in the ignition, jam-packed full of food -"
"Wait, what?" Hermione interrupted, a deep frown lining her forehead. "What do you mean it was just sitting there, keys in the ignition, jam-packed full of food?" she demanded, her tone low and suspicious.
Dean smirked at her. "We mean just that."
Hermione's mouth dropped open in disbelief as she tried to process what they were telling her. Was she dreaming? She must be. Because who on earth would leave a van full of food on the side of the road for anyone to find? "But... that doesn't make any sense! Who left it there? Didn't you just walk down that way a few days ago?"
"Yeah," Seamus nodded excitedly. "And it wasn't there then, which means it was only left there in the last few days. Everything's fresh!"
Hermione couldn't believe what she was hearing and more so than that, she couldn't believe that no one was questioning it. "Right, and don't you think that's a little strange? I mean, a van full of food mysteriously left on the side of the road, only a half-hour walk from the Manor?" she gazed at them both imploringly.
"Well, I guess it is a bit strange," Dean agreed, reluctantly. "But come on Hermione. We've got to take a win wherever we can get one."
"No," Hermione shook her head sharply. "No, we can't. Not anymore. Something isn't right about this. Look at the van," she thrust her hand out, indicating it. "When was the last time you saw anything this clean? Van or otherwise?" There was nothing nice left in the Wastes, everything was filthy, broken and damaged, the roads were covered in litter, and everywhere was overrun with weeds and overgrowth. "Nobody would leave a van full of food unattended. No one. Not in the Wastes. Besides, where did it even come from?" she asked, flabbergasted. Why the hell was she the only one concerned about this? "We haven't seen this much food in one place for over a year. None of this makes any sense."
Seamus sighed explosively. He was annoyed with her, she could see it in the way his lips thinned and his blue eyes narrowed at her. "Maybe our guardian angel saw how much we were suffering and decided to help us out?" he suggested, trying for a smile, but it fell short.
Hermione's jaw tightened and her nostrils flared. "There's no such thing as guardian angels. If they existed, they wouldn't have sat back and watched as Minerva died a slow and painful death."
Dean and Seamus blanched at the reminder, and, for a moment, Hermione felt a small pang of guilt for bringing it up when they were all just getting over it.
"We can't eat that food," she gritted. "Someone clearly planted it there for us to find. It's probably the Death Eaters. They've most likely figured out where we are. We always knew this day would come. We're lucky to have stayed in one place for as long as we have. They are trying to poison us. Kill us off, once and for all -"
"Hermione, stop, stop!" Dean growled, his temper catching up with Seamus'. "You're getting yourself all worked up. For god's sake, please don't ruin this. The Death Eaters don't give a shit about us anymore. They haven't for a long, long time, and it will stay that way unless we suddenly start causing trouble for them. Seeing as we can't get past those bastard walls, I can't see that happening anytime soon," Dean paused to frown at her. He looked as though he wanted to say more, but was uncertain. "Look," he began with a sigh, face hardening. "If you think they don't know where we are, you're fucking delusional. I know that we all like to pretend that everything's fine and dandy around here and we're hidden out of sight, but they know, Hermione," he paused for emphasis, his dark eyes drilling her to the spot. "They know exactly where we are, they've known all along, they just don't see us as a threat anymore. We're insignificant. Powerless. Not worth their time or attention. They wouldn't even waste their energy to poison food and plant it for us to find. That's too easy. They want us to suffer. They want us to scramble around looking for our next meal. They want the hope to slowly drain out of us until there's nothing left but for us to beg for death."
When he finished he was breathing heavily, his chest visibly rising and falling. He was angry, sure, but underneath that was fear. Hermione could see it in the way his eyes darted around her face and the way his fists clenched at his sides.
"OK, this is getting a little too morbid for my liking, let's wind it in a bit, yeah?" Seamus said, trying to diffuse the situation.
Hermione and Dean gazed at each other, Hermione's mind still running away with her. She knew Dean was right, but she couldn't help but worry that the Death Eaters would change their minds one day and decide they weren't so insignificant after all.
"There's nothing wrong with the food, Hermione. It's perfectly fine," Dean said in a last-ditch effort to reassure her, his hands lifting in a placating manner.
"How do you know that, though?" she demanded. "You don't know if it's poisoned or not."
Seamus pressed his lips together and breathed heavily through his nose. "Actually, yeah, we do. We already ate some," he confessed, crossing his arms defensively, as if anticipating Hermione's wrath.
"You did what?!" she bellowed. "How could you be so fucking stupid! You could have died, you idiots!"
Dean suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "Yeah, well, we didn't," he reached out to her slowly, as if he was reaching out to a small skittish animal. He gently placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly. "We're fine. There's nothing wrong with the food. You need to relax and just accept it for what it is - a shitload of food that will keep us fed for months."
Hermione wanted to say more, but there was no use arguing, especially because they'd already tried the fucking food. Jesus! If they'd lost Dean and Seamus... She swallowed hard, she didn't want to think about that. She'd grown close to both of them over the last few years, almost as close as she was to Harry and Ron. Their death would have been felt by all, and that's not to mention that they were valued members of the team, they would all be screwed without them.
She still didn't trust that the van had just been left on the side of the road for them to find. Who had left it? And what was their game? Why not just bring it directly to the manor? She was under no illusion that it hadn't been specifically left for them. Because it was obvious that it had. But, why? Why now?
Hermione remembered something strange like this happening around a year ago. Only that time it had been a huge tank of petrol that they'd found in a shed when it just so happened they were desperately in need of some for an upcoming scouting mission. Dean and Seamus swore black and blue that they had already checked that particular shed - which was only several properties away - and it definitely hadn't been there. Everyone laughed it off and told them they mustn't have looked hard enough, but Hermione had always thought it strange. She didn't believe that the boys could've missed a huge tank full of petrol, it was impossible with the size the thing. Yet, no one else questioned it, so she was forced to put it from her mind.
Now this, with the food. It brought it all back along with a few other weird things that had happened over the years.
Was it just a coincidence? Or was it someone playing with them?...
Or, maybe, it was like Seamus had suggested, and they really did have a guardian angel looking out for them from time to time.
Hermione's train of thought paused as she glimpsed a shock of curly, jet-black hair and golden-brown eyes before they quickly disappeared into the dilapidated greenhouse around the side of the manor. She stared at the empty space where they'd been, her heart kicking up a notch.
There was a loud clearing of a throat and Hermione quickly looked away, a guilty expression on her face.
Seamus scowled towards the greenhouse, making his disapproval known. "Has there been an update on the whereabouts of Harry and Ron?" he asked, turning back around to gaze at her. "They should be back soon, shouldn't they?"
Hermione knew why he really brought up Harry and Ron - not because he wanted to know when they were coming back from their mission, but because he was hoping to dissuade her from what she was obviously about to do.
"I don't know, Seamus," Hermione answered, a tight smile firmly in place. "It's probably best to ask Ginny, as she tends to know more about their whereabouts than I do. I'll see you two later," she added as she started towards the greenhouse.
She heard Dean grumble something under his breath but couldn't make out exactly what was said. It didn't matter though, she was sure she wouldn't like whatever he'd said anyway. Besides, she didn't care what they thought. She was her own person and could do whatever the hell she liked. She just wished people would stop getting involved in what she chose to do outside of the Order of the Phoenix.
Hermione squeezed through the broken door to the greenhouse and glanced around. It was dark, due to the overgrowth and dirty windows that were layered with filth from years of neglect.
She stepped further inside, wondering whether to take the aisle on the left or the one on the right. The one on the left was rarely used and she could tell that it would be difficult to fight her way through with all the overgrowth. The one on the right had been chopped back, making it much easier to navigate.
She deliberated for a few moments longer before deciding to take the one on the left. And just as she'd thought it would be, it was a nightmare to walk through.
Twigs and branches caught on her clothes, tangled in her hair and scratched her exposed skin, causing her to hiss, wince and swear colourfully.
Hermione was already considering turning back around when, suddenly, the over-grown greenery opened up into a sizeable space.
Well, this was new.
Someone had obviously been in there and tidied it up recently - she could still detect the smell of freshly chopped branches and leaves.
There was a dirty, old fold-out table in the centre of the space that she assumed must have been used to prune plants when it had been a lovely, functioning greenhouse. Now, it was a mess. There was no denying it. Hermione was sure that if the former owners saw it now they would be heartbroken - not just about the greenhouse, but the manor in general.
The manor was originally owned by Brian Hammersmith, a wealthy businessman with a penchant for tennis. Hermione knew this from the few documents they'd found that hadn't been burned and the handful of pictures recovered from the rubble. He had a beautiful wife, Mary, and three children - Ashley, Jane, and Christopher.
Hermione could imagine Mary spending hours in the greenhouse, tending to luscious Geraniums, pink Petunias, and vibrant roses. She often wondered what happened to the Hammersmith family. Had they run away? Or had they perished here? Perhaps they had been enslaved and taken behind the wall. Hermione hoped not, for their sake she hoped they had escaped before the borders were closed, or at least died a swift death. Because death was better than torture and enslavement.
There was the sound of a twig snapping directly behind her and Hermione whirled around, gasping.
She stared up into golden-brown eyes, only a few shades lighter than her own, and tensed.
An internal monologue instantly started up in her mind - what am I doing here? I promised myself it would stop. This isn't fair. It's cruel. Have I sunk so low that I can be this heartless? Am I heartless?... Am I? Am I? Am I?
Hands gripped her hips and warm lips found her neck, and before Hermione realised what she was doing, her fingers were already diving into thick, wavy hair, as one word resounded like a drumbeat in her mind.
Yes. Yes. Yes.
The lips at her neck trailed up to her jaw, then her cheek, and the corner of her mouth.
Hermione spun away quickly and placed her palms flat on the fold-out table, her molars clenching together.
There was nothing for a moment, and she wondered if she'd been left alone, but then those hands were back on her hips, and something hard was pressing into her from behind.
She licked her lips and let loose a sigh of relief, her core clenching in anticipation as she felt her jeans being undone and carefully eased down her thighs.
She resisted the urge to yank them down herself and instead balled her hands into fists, her nails digging into her palms and eliciting a sweet zing of pain.
After what felt like an age, there was finally a hardness pressing at her core and she pushed back eagerly, feeling herself expand and stretch, but not in the way she'd been hoping.
She wasn't sure what she'd been hoping for. She already knew what to expect. Yet, she couldn't help the black hole of disappointment that opened up inside her.
Despite it, Hermione leaned forward so that her front was flush with the table, and rotated her hips invitingly.
A breathy moan reached her ears and she closed her eyes tightly, grasping at the tiny thread of pleasure inside her.
Skin slapped, breaths hitched and the table squeaked, as seconds turned into a minute, then two, then...
"Arrrrrgggghhhhhhhhhh," came a long, drawn-out moan, far sooner than Hermione had anticipated.
She buried her face in her arms, as a heavy weight slumped on top of her and a voice whispered in her ear. "That was so good. Did you come?"
Did she come? Really?
Hermione took several deep, calming breaths before turning her head and staring into dilated golden-brown. "Yes," she lied, trying her hardest to muster a smile.
It must have been sufficient enough because there was a flash of a smile and then lips were descending on hers and, suddenly, Hermione felt the very familiar waves of panic starting to stir inside her, and she just...
"Simon, don't!" she hissed, straightening up and effectively shoving his weight off her.
Simon sighed deeply, and Hermione turned away from him as he reached down to remove the spoiled condom.
"Is this how it's always going to be?" he asked dejectedly, his tone quiet and almost sad.
Hermione tugged her jeans up and whirled on him, teeth gritted. "I told you how it was going to be when this first started. I've always been honest with you and I've never lied," she nearly choked on the words, because that in itself was a lie. She'd lied to him so many times and she'd only known him, what?... five months? "If you're not happy with this arrangement and you want to end it, then just say so. I'm not stopping you."
Simon finished fastening his trousers and held his hands up defensively, his eyes widening with surprise. "Woah, there. I never said I wanted to end it. I was just wondering if things are ever going to change. It's always the same, we... you know, and then you leave. We hardly ever talk. You're always so distant, and when I try to get to know you more, you always shut me down -"
"Simon," she sighed tiredly and pinched the bridge of her nose. Why was he doing this now? He'd been silently going along with it for months. "We're fucking. We're not in a relationship. There's no need to "get to know each other" or anything like that. That's the whole point of this arrangement. It's just about sex, that's all."
"I know, but I thought -" he began, glancing at his feet.
"You thought what?" she pressed. "That I would change my mind?" she shook her head. "That's never going to happen. I'm sorry if you were hoping otherwise."
Simon looked at her and bit his bottom lip, rejection shining in his eyes. "Fine, I understand. Forget I said anything."
Hermione threw her hands up and groaned. Now she felt like a heel. Why was she always the bad guy? This was exactly why she should stop doing this. She knew it wasn't fair. It was cruel.
"Can I just ask one thing?" he clasped his hands together, almost as if in prayer. "Then I promise I'll drop it and I won't mention it again."
Hermione crossed her arms, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "Fine. Go on."
"Why won't you let me kiss you?" he asked, brow puckering in confusion.
Hermione instantly stiffened, her entire body going so taut her spine ached.
"If it's just about sex, then I should be able to kiss you too," he continued, oblivious to Hermione's internal turmoil. "Isn't kissing part of it?"
She was silent for what felt like aeons, heart racing, palms sweating, temples throbbing. "No," she eventually rasped, her mouth as dry as sandpaper. "Kissing isn't part of it."
"But, why?..." he pushed, his face clouding with further confusion. "Why don't you want to kiss me? Is it me? Did I do something wrong?"
"No, no," she brought her hand up to her head. She could feel a headache starting to brew behind her eyes. "It isn't you."
"Well, what is it, then? Did someone hurt you?" he asked, looking concerned now. "An ex, maybe? Is that why?"
Images of mussed blonde hair and piercing silver eyes flashed in her mind before she forcibly shoved them out and slammed the door on them. "I don't want to talk about it," she gritted, angrily. "It's none of your fucking business why. I don't want to kiss you and that's the end of it. As I said, if you want to end this, then do so. I understand if it's becoming uncomfortable for you."
Simon frowned at her, wholly disappointed. "I don't want to end it, Hermione. I really don't. I just don't know how this arrangement is going to work in the long run. You have serious issues –"
"Serious issues?" Hermione blurted, scoffing indignantly. "Who the hell are you to tell me I have serious issues?"
Simon visibly cringed. "No, that's… I didn't mean to offend you. I meant it in the most respectful way possible."
Hermione shook her head, her anger palpable. "Telling someone they have serious issues isn't respectful, Simon," she snapped, her cheeks burning.
How dare he. He may not have meant to offend her, but a little tact wouldn't go amiss. Hermione knew she had issues, she didn't need it carelessly thrown in her face like that.
Simon stepped forward, his expression ashamed and apologetic. "I'm so sorry, Hermione. I really didn't mean it like that. I find it hard to express what I'm trying to say sometimes.
Hermione crossed her arms and scowled, lips pressed into a thin line.
"What I meant is, I know you're hurting – about something - and I just want you to know that I'm here for you if you ever want to talk," he paused, swallowing thickly. "I hate the thought of you suffering and I'm sad that you feel as though you can't talk to me about it. I'm just worried about you, that's all. This isn't healthy -"
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed at her temples. "Simon, please. I don't want to talk about this, and I certainly don't need you analysing me and telling me what is and isn't healthy. I'm quite capable of doing that myself, thanks."
She knew that he was ultimately coming from a good place, but this was a difficult and extremely personal topic for her. It wasn't something she could discuss with him, ever. He wouldn't understand how she was feeling - she didn't think anyone would understand.
"I'm sorry," Simon breathed as he brought his hands up to his face and pressed his fingers into his eye sockets. "That was out of line. I shouldn't have said anything. You're completely right, it's none of my business. I'm an idiot. Forgive me? Please," he begged, looking tortured.
Hermione dropped her arms to her sides, her heart clenching painfully. God, he didn't deserve this - he didn't deserve to be used like this. Simon was kind, he was. He was sweet and tried to be understanding of what she wanted from him. But that was the fucking problem. What did she want from him? Because she sure as hell didn't know. She was tagging him along, for what? "I... I just..." she trailed off, shaking her head, looking completely lost, not knowing what to say to him.
"Just say you forgive me?" he pleaded, hands pressed together.
Hermione stared at him for a few moments and then nodded slowly. She watched as he let out a small, relieved sigh and smiled tentatively.
Fuck. She cursed internally, glancing away from his unmistakably thankful expression, a cold shiver dancing down her spine.
What are you doing? This is the perfect opportunity to end it with him. Do the right thing. Stop being such a heartless bitch. You'll never change. You'll never be what he wants you to be. This is who you are now.
They were silent for what felt like an age, both stealing quick glances at each other in between long, sweeping gazes around the greenhouse. To say it was awkward would have been an understatement.
"So, how are your friends?" Simon eventually asked, and she could see the effort it took him not to roll his eyes at the ridiculous question, especially after everything they'd just talked about.
Small talk – just what she needed. "They're fine, as far as I'm aware," she answered, mustering a smile.
"Good, good… Speaking of your friends," he gestured with one hand, clearing his throat. "I don't think they like me very much," Hermione's gaze focused on him, a small line appearing between her brows. "Is it because of what's going on between us? Or is it because I'm a... what do you call us again? Muddles?"
Despite it all, Hermione chuckled. "It's Muggles, and no, they don't care one bit that you're a muggle, trust me. It's... well, they can be a little overprotective with me. Don't worry, I'll talk to them."
"OK, thanks," Simon smiled. "It would definitely make things a bit easier. I think the Irish guy put maggots in my bed the other day. I ended up having to sleep on the floor."
Oh, for Christ's sake! Hermione was going to kill Seamus and Dean! Yes, both of them. Because where one was, the other was never too far away. "Sorry about that. I'll talk to them today. I can assure you they won't do it again."
Hermione stared at him a moment, biting the corner of her thumbnail. "I meant what I said, Simon. If this isn't working for you, we can just be friends. I don't want to hurt you. I just... this is all I can be for you. I hope you understand that. I don't want you getting your hopes up thinking that things will change, because they won't."
She couldn't be more blunt than that.
"I understand. I'll take whatever you're willing to give me," he told her, his smile small and accepting. "I like you, Hermione. I like you a lot."
Hermione didn't know what to say in response, so she just smiled back at him. All the while, she cursed herself to the fiery depths of hell and back.
It was selfish even having this conversation. It was cruel. She shouldn't have put him on the spot and made him choose. She should have just ended it. It was the kind thing to do. Because no matter what happened in the end, Simon would end up hurt. Not her.
The following day they fucked again, but this time he didn't try to kiss her. When it was over, Hermione felt like she always did... dirty, guilty and wholly unsatisfied. Again, it made her wonder why she continued to do it. She wasn't getting anything from it, each time she would say to herself, this time will be different. Of course, it never was. It wasn't his fault, not really. It wasn't anything he was doing wrong. It was her. She was broken.
A few weeks later, Hermione was having breakfast in the garden with Ginny.
"Hermione," Ginny sighed. "Stop picking at your food, there's nothing bloody wrong with it. We've been eating it for weeks now and not one person has gotten so much as a stomach ache."
Hermione grumbled under her breath and took a large bite of the spam and pickle sandwich. She used to hate spam, but she couldn't afford to be picky anymore. Food was food at the end of the day.
Ginny beamed encouragingly. "Good, huh?"
"I wouldn't say it's good," Hermione frowned slightly. "But it's the best we've had in a while, so I can't complain."
"At least the bread's fresh, mum made fifteen loaves last night. I doubt we'll have bread for much longer, I think there're only nine bags of flour left, but it's been a nice change," Ginny tore into her own sandwich with vigour and let out a low pleasure-filled moan.
It was a cold, cloudy day, too cold to be outside, really. Hermione could see large, dark clouds blowing in from the east. It would rain soon, but that didn't put them off. Besides, there was a reason they were eating outside and not in the common room with everyone else.
Hermione glanced at Ginny out of the corner of her eye and took another bite of her sandwich.
"Stop side-eyeing me!" Ginny complained, her mouth full of food.
"Sorry," Hermione winced. "It's just... aren't you nervous?"
"A little, yeah," Ginny admitted with a small shrug. "But it's Harry."
"Yeah, Harry who's been gone for nearly six weeks. Harry who you had a huge fight with before he left," Hermione gently reminded her.
Ginny sighed. "We were arguing about how many missions he's been going on recently," she confessed, picking at her fingernail. Hermione knew that it pained her to admit they were having problems, but she didn't feel bad about bringing up. She didn't want Ginny expecting everything would be OK once he got back. Things with them hadn't been OK for a long time now, and Hermione had a sneaking suspicion it had to do with more than just the missions. "He said we'd talk about it properly when he got back, but he promised that he would really try to cut back on the missions this time. As long as he does, there will be no more arguments."
Hermione opened her mouth to disagree - Harry cutting back on missions wasn't going to help their relationship - but she quickly decided against it. She could tell that Ginny wasn't really in the mood to talk about it and Hermione more than anyone could appreciate that. Besides, it was probably best that they figured it out on their own. She really hoped they did figure it out, because the way things were going, they wouldn't last much longer.
"Do you think they'll arrive today?" Hermione asked, setting her chipped plate on the grass next to her.
They were scheduled to arrive today, but in actuality, that didn't mean anything. They'd been known to arrive days, and sometimes weeks, later than they were supposed to.
"I don't know," Ginny sighed, wrapping her arms around her legs and propping her chin on her knees.
It started to spit and within a few minutes, it was a downpour. Still, Hermione and Ginny stayed where they were, waiting for the mission team to turn up, only for them to be a no-show.
Three more days passed and the rain raged on.
It was great for their water tanks, which were all now full and overflowing, after being empty for five weeks. It wasn't so great for Hermione and the rest of the community, who'd been forced to mostly stay inside, only braving the storms to use one of the makeshift out-houses they'd built when they'd first moved in. Or attempting to bathe in the lower parts of the stream that ran through the back of the property.
Hermione strolled into the common room, a book clutched in her hand, and glanced around, looking for a quiet spot to settle. She noticed Dean talking to Simon and smiled a little, remembering how she'd reamed both him and Seamus for the way they'd been treating him. She'd made it clear that what was going on between her and Simon was on her terms and they should wind their necks in. She was a grown fucking woman, and if she wanted to have casual sex, she would bloody well have casual sex.
Dean looked up at her and winked, whilst Simon gazed at her, scratching the back of his head and blushing profusely.
Why was he blushing?
For God's sake.
It irritated her how shy and meek he could get at times. Whenever he would look at her in public, he would blush. Sometimes she just wanted him to look at her across a packed room and give her the filthiest I-want-to-fuck-you-right-now stare he could muster, before proceeding to thoroughly undress her with his eyes. She wanted heat, she wanted passion. Merlin, she even wanted him to yell at her sometimes, push her buttons a bit, especially when she was being a pain in the arse - because let's face it - she was a massive pain in the arse most of the time. She knew it, he knew, everyone knew it. She didn't think she'd ever heard him raise his voice before. Not even when he lost the only picture he had of his dead parents. He was just so calm about everything, there were no heightened emotions of any sort, especially when it came to sex. He seemed to have the same reaction every time they fucked, he enjoyed it, sure, but it was always the same. Just once, once, she wanted him to fuck her so hard she couldn't walk properly afterwards.
Was that asking too much?
But, alas, he wasn't the type, he was a soft and gentle lover - although, let's be honest, that wasn't really the problem, neither was the way he dealt with his emotions. There was a disconnect between them that Hermione knew they would never overcome. She imagined that even if Simon pulled out all the stops, it wouldn't be enough, not nearly.
She just wanted to feel that all-consuming need for someone. To feel her stomach clench and her core throb just from a simple glance in her direction. She'd been with a handful of guys over the years and she hadn't once felt that way… not since… not since…
Hermione let out an explosive rush of air, her mind troubled.
She was just doing what she always did, trying to paint him as someone he wasn't and getting frustrated with him for it, which was completely unfair. This had been her problem for a while now. No one seemed to match up to her expectations.
"Hi Hermione," Luna greeted, seeming to appear from nowhere, interrupting her thoughts. "Have you seen my charms textbook? I seem to have misplaced it. I remember I had it in the Great Hall at dinner, but when I went back to Ravenclaw Tower, it was gone."
Hermione's heart sank.
Oh no, she must be having one of her episodes again.
Luna had been tortured at the Failed Battle of Hogwarts. Sadly, no one had seen it happening because her tormentor had dragged her off into the Forbidden Forrest so as not to be disturbed. She was half-dead when they'd finally found her, a mangled, unidentifiable corpse lying only a few feet away.
Who killed her attacker, no one knew. But thank goodness they did, otherwise, Luna wouldn't be here today.
After undergoing several tests, they discovered that Luna had been put under the Cruciatus Curse, on and off, for close to four hours. By all accounts, she should have been completely brain-dead, but thankfully, by some miracle, and after months in recovery, she was mostly still the same Luna they knew and loved. Only every now and again she would have these episodes of confusion, where she would think she was still at school in Hogwarts Castle, or at home near Ottery St. Catchpole in her house that was shaped like a chess rook. The latter was the worst, especially when she would ask where her father was. Sometimes she would just accept that he'd nipped out to the shops or went for a walk in the nearby woods. Then other times, she would demand to know where he'd gone, almost as if she knew, deep down, something had happened to him and he wasn't coming back. Those times were painful for anyone involved because Luna wouldn't stop until you told her the truth.
Imagine being told your father had been murdered years before, but you couldn't remember. It was like reopening a nasty wound each time they had to retell the story of what happened to him. It was utterly heart-wrenching to watch her break down as if she was hearing it for the first time because to Luna it was the first time, not the fiftieth or hundredth.
That's why they all went along with her when she was having one of her episodes. It was too cruel to tell her the truth.
"Sorry, Luna, I haven't seen it," Hermione said, trying to keep the sorrow from her expression. "Would you like me to help you find it?" she offered.
Luna blinked, dreamily. "No, that's OK. I might just go and help Molly in the kitchen instead. I'll look for it later."
This would often happen too, actual-reality and her fake-reality would merge together. One minute she would be talking about how amazing her Transfiguration lesson was, then the next, she would be saying she needed to go and fetch some water from the stream for breakfast tomorrow morning.
"OK," Hermione smiled. "Come find me later if you want help looking for it."
"Thanks, Hermione," Luna hugged her swiftly before skipping off towards the kitchen.
Hermione watched her go, wondering as she often did, whether these episodes would be a permanent thing or something that would get better with time. It had been four years, and they hadn't eased at all, so it wasn't looking good.
Hermione sighed and walked over to her favourite reading spot that had just been vacated by Lee Jordan and George Weasley - a window seat that looked out onto the front garden.
The sky was grey and gloomy and the rain lashed the windows, ferociously.
For a long while, she gazed at the large oak trees and the long narrow conifers that swayed to and fro in the howling wind, her book resting unopened in her lap. She watched the rain ease until it reduced to spitting and then stopped completely.
She thought about life and how much it had changed in the last five years, wondering, as always, what on earth would happen to them all in the years to come. Perhaps they wouldn't be here. Food was scarce at the best of times, soon it would run out entirely. What would they do then?
Hermione vowed to talk to Molly about expanding their vegetable patch. They needed to work more diligently on growing more fruits and vegetables. She would also talk to Dean and Seamus and tell them to keep an eye out when they were out and about. If they saw any fruit trees or vegetable plants, they should bring samples back for them to plant in the garden.
Hermione was pondering what other steps they could take to ensure a steady food supply, when suddenly a pair of headlights turned up the long winding driveway.
Hermione sat bolt upright, her book sliding off her lap to bang loudly on the floor.
"Ginny!" She bellowed. "They're back!"
Hermione and Ginny charged through the common room doors and raced down the enormous hallway, their feet smacking on the hardwood floors, as they giggled like they hadn't giggled in a long time.
Molly and Arthur watched them from the staircase, smiling widely, the relief on both of their face unmistakable. Their sons had made it home.
Ginny reached the front door before Hermione and flung it open, a big gust of icy wind blowing their hair back and making them gasp and shiver.
Ron was already striding across the large porch, his face drawn and tired, but that didn't stop him from pulling both Ginny and Hermione into a bone-crushing hug.
"Ron," Hermione breathed, squeezing him back. "You're OK. Oh my God, you're OK. I was so worried."
She said these exact words every time Harry and Ron came back from a mission, almost as if she had been subconsciously thinking that they wouldn't be.
"Listen," Ron said, his tone low and urgent as he ushered them inside.
Hermione's heart instantly dropped at the sound of his voice and the grave expression on his face. He looked pale, even for him, and his freckles stood out, unusually dark. She gripped his arm tightly as he guided both her and Ginny further into the hallway.
Oh God, what was this about? Was it Harry? Bill? Charlie?
"RON! Stop pushing me!" Ginny yelled, angrily. "Where the hell is Harry? Where's Bill and Charlie? What's going on?" she demanded. Neither Hermione nor Ron missed the slight tremor to her voice or the way her tone became a little too shrill.
"We..." Ron began, but trailed off, glancing over his shoulder through the front door that was still open and blowing in freezing, cold air.
Hermione's eyes followed his line of sight and she frowned deeply. "Ron... who?"
She watched as Harry and Charlie hauled a man between them up the steps and into the house, Bill hot on their heels. As relieved as she was to see them safe and sound, she couldn't stop her curiosity from taking over.
Hermione looked the man up and down, taking in his fine clothes - black, tailored trousers and what obviously used to be a white shirt but was now dirty and speckled with blood. He had a black suit jacket wrapped and tied tightly around his head, preventing her from seeing his face and him from seeing his surroundings. She couldn't even tell what colour his hair was.
Hermione could distantly hear Molly and Arthur ushering people who had come out to have a nosey back into the common room.
As they passed, Bill and Charlie looked in their direction, giving Hermione and Ginny small, tired smiles, yet Harry did not. He didn't even deign to glance their way, he just looked straight ahead, face like thunder.
This was typical Harry. This was him in full "mission-mode", almost like he couldn't see what was going on around him. Had he even noticed Ginny?
Hermione peeked at Ginny from the corner of her eye, trying to judge what she was feeling.
Ginny looked... angry, sad, disappointed. She'd been waiting for Harry for weeks and he couldn't even look at her? Give her a reassuring nod? Nothing? This is exactly why they were arguing so much. It wasn't that Harry didn't care for Ginny anymore, it's just that he was so consumed with getting behind the wall and stopping Voldemort that it often came across that way. It was like his missions where the most important thing and everything else was secondary, including Ginny.
"Harry –" Ginny called after him, stepping forward as if to follow him.
"Not now, Gin," he said, tone hard. "This can't wait."
Hermione glared at the back of Harry's head – bastard - before turning back to Ron, a million questions in her eyes. Mainly, who the fuck was that guy they were dragging, blindfolded, into their safe haven?
Ron stood up taller, his jaw tightening. "He's from behind the wall," he told her, eyes narrowing, easily answering her question without her having to utter a word. "He's our ticket in."
Hermione let out a surprised breath, her heart thudding wildly in her chest. Now it all made sense, why Harry was acting like he was.
She heard the door to the Hub slam close with a deafening bang and she flinched in response.
A moment later, a scream of agony pierced the air - and it barely stopped for the next three hours.
A/N: Hope you enjoyed the first chapter! :-). Eeeeek, I'm excited about writing this part of the story. I've got so many ideas running through my head. Please let me know your thoughts on chapter 1! Did you see it going in this direction? Are you surprised? Either way, this is only the beginning, I'm excited to write the scenes that take place behind the wall and I'm even more excited to introduce Draco and gang back into the story. Big hugs xoxo
My dearest Black_Osmosis, thank you so much for all the back and forths on this chapter - there were a lot! And they all happened this weekend, LOL. We also managed to throw in some music recommendations, which I'm so happy about. Writing and music - two of my favourite things. Much love and hugs to you xoxoxo
P.S. Please don't be put off by Simon. Remember this is a Dramione story, it's all about them! Just trust me, please :). I know I shouldn't even have to say this, but I've already had someone say they aren't going to continue reading because Hermione is having a fling with another guy. So, if that's a concern for you also, let me say it again for the people in the back who may not have heard, THIS IS A DRAMIONE STORY! Haha.
P.P.S. I've just been through the entire chapter again as it was pointed out that there was some weird formatting issue in the prologue, making some sentences unreadable. I have now amended this. This is a problem I've had in the past with FFN. For some reason, it doesn't like me copying from a word document and pasting into DocX on their website. It's extremely frustrating, especially after days of proofreading and back and forths with Black_Osmosis. I'm seriously considering closing this account and only posting my work on AO3. It's literally making me look bad.