Chapter 3
Ginny relaxed, her body released. Around her neck, a flash of light caught Hermione's eye. Knuckling her tears away, she reached tentatively for the slender silver chain. Carefully unhooking it from her friends cooling body, she raised the thin circle of silver attached to the chain. A tiny hourglass glinted from where it was held in the centre of the circle. Her breath caught in her throat.
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"But where are you going? Hermione! Talk to me!" Sorscha shouted frantically as Hermione stuffed a sack with her remaining clothes. At the bottom a small supply of food was stored along with three creased pictures and a worn map. Around her shoulders, a bladder of water was already slung, her deer pelt cloak pulled snugly around her person. As Hermione pulled the ties of sack tight, Sorscha grabbed her.
"I'm going to free us," Hermione stated. Raw determination laced her voice. Sorscha's grip slackened. Tears threatened at her good eye. "Maybe we'll meet again sometime," Hermione tried to smile. Failing that, she stepped forward and drew her companion into a brief hug.
Hermione turned on her heel, unable to meet her friend's wounded gaze. She strode out of her bed chamber, past the gathered dwellers to the cave mouth. She paused; took a deep breath. The darkness of the night consumed her as she took the first pace to a new future; a new life.
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In the Forbidden Forest, Fenrir Greyback had assembled his most trusted creations. A war council. A woman lolled on her side, exposing her breasts through her tangled mane of grey hair. Her eyes fixed on every Werewolf assembled, unabashed. One hand trailed patterns down her grimy leg. As the alpha female she was entitled to unaccounted pleasures and the second taste of a kill. Her mate crouched, wary and ready. Beside them the second in command and his mate poised, listening intently to the sounds that accosted them. In a tight ring, three others crouched, waiting for their leader to speak.
"We are missing three," Fenrir snarled. His mate smirked. "Never the less, we shall press on. Their deaths will just be an addition to our pleasure," Chilling peals of wolfish laughter left his throat. "We move with the end of the next full moon. Weasley," He barked. A young man snapped his attention to his leader. His lank red hair trailed down his back over smooth, lean muscle. "You lead the first wave into the attack. Catch them unawares, stalk them like your prey," The two men shared a broad, blood thirsty grin.
"As you command it, so shall it be," Bill Weasley lowered his head in respect for his master. The law of the pack was a simple one, one Bill had learnt well.
"You, Howes," He pointed a claw like finger at a flaxen haired, hulking creature whose face and body were scarred almost beyond recognition. "Will follow up the rear, while they are distracted you shall deal a shattering blow,"
"It is madness-" Howes began to growl his protest.
"You doubt my judgement!" Fenrir snapped. He swung his hand up, catching Howes under the chin and sending him cart wheeling backwards.
"I do not doubt you; I just need more men to do as you command. To send me in with so few is certain death!" Howes roared from his ungainly position on the soft earth.
"You expected to live?" The grey haired woman almost hissed. "You do your job, you uphold the pack. If you expect to survive you fail. You are too cautious. You will die Howes,"
"Quiet yourself, Livonia," Fenrir snarled at his mate, anger creasing his brow. "Wilcox! You take the main body and overrun them!" A snowy haired, sly-eyed elder pounded a fist on his scarred torso. "Carrows, Rookwood, you are my most trusted. You will lead a small party to survey the area. You have tonight to prepare. Go!"
The second in command and his mate, both tawny haired individuals with pale, unmarred flesh and large wolf ears and tails, slunk off into the darkness to select their scouting party. They were some of the few full blooded werewolves that numbered in the pack. As such they were far more in tune with the wild and its happenings. Fenrir trusted their senses better than his own; a fault that he was sure would one day cause his downfall.
An icy wind whipped through the tall trees. They would have to move before Autumn settled in and with it, the ravenous beasts that even they feared.
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It had been four days since Hermione had left the caves. The days had been warm with a cool breeze but now a storm threatened. Black rolling clouds advanced with cruel speed as the winds picked up to a gale. Pulling her pelts around her to block out the chill, she continued down a hill into a copse. A short distance away she could see a scattering of buildings. If she could reach them before the storm hit at least she would have shelter.
Putting speed back into her weary step, she hurried through the sparse trees, ignoring the trilling of a pair of wood pigeons and started the ascent of the second hill standing between herself and her goal.
The hiss of heavy, fast falling rain chased her like a wolf to its prey, down into the shallow valley and up behind her until the icy blanket smothered her. The skies darkened, thunder rolled and lightning flashed. Slipping as she tried to scramble to the summit, muddying her hands and knees in the sodden earth, she failed to notice the shadows on her tail.
Panting heavily, she stood and waited for the next levin to illuminate her route and with relieved and heavy foot trudged slowly down the steep hill towards the pallid buildings she now saw before her.
A howl split the night in two.
(Levin: - Lightning Flash)
