A/N: Due to the brevity of this chapter, I'll try to have the next one up within the week. Fair warning that my update schedule will probably get a bit uneven in a few weeks as life picks up again. As always, enjoy and let me know what you think! :)
Trigger warnings: Violence, blood, death mention
Hermione twisted around, dragging Narcissa with her. They moved against the flow of people, but Hermione pushed past them, ignoring their glares. She wished she could scream, order them to flee and save themselves. This wasn't their fight, at least not directly.
The moment her foot touched the pavement, it began. Shouts and cries shot up behind them with the sound of people being pushed into each other—or falling. Horrified screams of "Oh my God!" pierced through it all and suddenly entropy erupted on the ordinary London street.
Hermione knew this well. It was the sound of magical battle.
Narcissa, who had been silently protesting Hermione's sudden change of direction, went very pale and began to follow Hermione in a run.
The Muggle shouts behind them grew louder, more chaotic, punctuated by the smash of spells against concrete and the shattering of glass. Hermione couldn't understand what they were saying, her mind too full of fear to leave room for comprehension. Run, run, faster, go…
She turned sharply to the left at the end of the block. The Muggles there had no clue what lay around the corner and they scolded her as she crashed into them.
"Run," she gasped. "Run, run, run!" Run or you will die…
Hermione chanced a glance behind her and immediately regretted it. He was there, turning the corner with two comrades and slashing his wand at everyone in his way. Hermione caught glances of green and red spellfire immediately accompanied by cries of terror. It was the world's deadliest Christmas light show. Hermione ran faster.
"Move!" That could only be his voice. It sounded strangely accented and for one bizarre moment Hermione thought it was Viktor Krum speaking. But no, that was impossible—Viktor didn't have brilliant golden hair, Viktor wasn't an Animagus owl…
"Get out of my way!" A beam of purple magic smashed into the stones at Hermione's feet and suddenly she was sixteen again, outrunning death in the Department of Mysteries, Dolohov's curse reaching between her ribs and shredding her into strips of agony. The only thing that had saved her then was—
"Silencio!" Her voice came out ragged and hoarse but her aim stayed true. As the spell stole his voice, Hermione watched those familiar green eyes harden into molten hatred.
They were gaining on them. These men were strong, whereas Narcissa and Hermione had been weakened by hunger and abuse. Hermione's legs ached and trembled but she didn't dare stop. She knew she'd never be able to start again.
Their attackers' spells were nearly hitting their mark now; Hermione felt the shudders against her shields. She wound need to counterattack soon, but that would require slowing down and thinking and doing something other than moving her legs…
She'd managed to ignore the fallen Muggles beside and behind her, either dead or wishing they were. No doubt at least one was in that incomprehensible agony Hermione had known in the bowels of the Ministry. She doubted these victims would get the dozen life-saving potions they needed.
Oh, she never should have come here…
Narcissa grabbed Hermione's forearm and lurched to the right, pulling them into an intersection. Brakes wailed as cars skidded out of their way. A double-decker bus brimming with puzzled tourists nearly ran them over; Hermione and Narcissa hid behind it as the terror continued on the footpath.
Hermione could hear sirens. How long had it been? She'd first spotted the man only minutes ago, yet she had been running forever.
The bus exploded. Three Reductos hit it squarely in the middle from the other side, causing a noise so spectacular Hermione felt it in her bones.
Now it was her turn to scream.
She and Narcissa were incoherently tugging on each other, trying to save the other and themselves from flying shrapnel as the bus collapsed in on itself. The sounds of fear were inescapable now. It weighed down the air, heavier than the smoke.
Hermione could hear the voices, the only ones not crying out in pain and fear and confusion. Narcissa's nails were painfully digging into the flesh of Hermione's palm and they both gasped for air on shaking legs.
Hermione didn't know what to do.
How does one outrun an enemy who has no qualms killing bystanders or anything else put in their path? How does one survive when outnumbered, out-armed, and too good to break the rules?
She realised it then: this was a battle that could not be won. Not by her.
They had to leave, and their attackers had to see it happen so they wouldn't continue tearing down the street to continue the hunt.
She had done it at Lovegood's, hadn't she? She could do it again.
Hermione tugged Narcissa's waist toward her and cupped the back of her neck in some bizarre semblance of a kiss, except her lips hovered by her ear. "I'll get us out of here," she promised in a fierce hiss which struggled to be heard. "Don't let go."
Narcissa nodded against her and pressed herself close against Hermione's side.
Hermione guessed that the other side of the bus must have been blown to bits because she could hear the wizards struggling to navigate the rubble, even with magic. The side behind which Hermione stood appeared mostly intact, though Hermione could see and smell flames coming from the engine.
And there was the blood on the ground. Sticky and dark against the tar, it mingled with the dirt. Mudblood.
One of them had become impatient and walked around the destruction. Hermione saw him now, short with dark features and running at them head-on, wand out. His first spell missed, hitting the metal exterior of the bus instead liquefying it, causing the section above to groan and collapse. Hermione prayed it would hold until they were gone.
Narcissa had shifted and now fired off hexes and jinxes for every one sent their way. Whether or not she was a good duellist was difficult to say, but this witch certainly had plenty of spells in her arsenal. Hermione only hoped they were of a gentler nature than the ones she was countering.
With Narcissa's arm still firmly around her waist, Hermione brought forth memories of childhood warmth and joy, emerald grasses and the burn of hot plastic in summertime—
She noticed Narcissa's spell miss and the man lunge the same instant she felt the tug in her belly.
It was one of the strangest sensations, having an uninvited guest tag along during apparition, and Hermione could decidedly promise it was an unpleasant one. She could feel Narcissa fighting the man's grip on her and it seemed that they spent eternity in that nowhere space between destinations before the man was gone and she found herself standing in a suburban park.
The first thing Hermione noticed was that she was alone. Where Narcissa's firm press of fingers had been now lingered a curious emptiness. Hermione nearly panicked before she gathered her bearings and noticed the body at her feet.
And the blood coming out of it.
Dropping to her knee, she hastily ran her hands over Narcissa's body to find the injuries. Her eyes were closed. Hermione could have mistaken her for dead if not for the thundering of her pulse. Its pace frightened Hermione; it felt like Narcissa's heart was trying to claw its way out of her chest.
"Narcissa," she hissed, shaking her just a little. "Narcissa! Narcissa, please wake up."
Hermione reached to cradle her head, then nearly dropped it when she felt the scarlet wetness underneath. The prospect of head injury sickened Hermione and she was only slightly reassured when she realised the wound was from where their attacker had ripped out a fistful of blonde hair in an effort to hold on during apparition.
The forearm proved to be another matter. Draco's semi-healed cut, which had barely been skin-deep to begin with, now reached down past the muscle. Hermione couldn't see clearly for all the blood and she found herself grateful; she didn't think the sight of bone would ease the spear of nausea in her gut—
But what was she to do? She had saved Ron from splinching, but here she had no access to any potions or medical knowledge beyond some meagre spells; St. Mungo's was clearly not an option, any other magical sanctuary ran the risk of being under Death Eater control… and Narcissa still bled, still lay motionless…
Hermione wrapped up Narcissa's body in her arms, took her wand in hand, and thought of fireside laughter, of sore legs, of bitter cold winds juxtaposed to the glittering sunlight—
Please don't splinch; not again. I'll keep you safe, I promise…
And the park was empty again, save for a dark puddle on the grass.