Hello all!
This is my part in the challenge posted by the lovely Lady Acacia.
Rules and ecetera can be found at: http/ shamefully admit that I was in such a rush that I didn't really put Ron and Harry into the story, nor did I give that great of clues about Hermione's soon-to-be secret. I tried as hard as I possibly could to make this very Hermione-like. (It's my own little term - sort of.)This means that I tried to write as sophisticated and detailed as possible. As easy as it seems, it's not. As for good quotes that stick with a reader, well, that I forgot about, too. I'm so bad.
As always, this was betaed by the wonderful R. J. Lupin's Kat.
And, I dearly thank Lady Acacia for all of her help. Without it, I would be running around like a raving lunatic trying to get this done.
This is in four parts, just to let you all know.
Enjoy! (And good luck to the other writers who wrote for the challenge, too!)
Disclaimer - I do not own Harry Potter and Co. I do not own the original idea. I only own the itty bitty plot I developed from it.
A lone, dark silhouette of a small, petite figure slid quickly across the dew soaked grass, heading towards the ominous, forbidding Forbidden Forest.
Hermione Jane Granger looked up towards the ink black sky, only to see the circular bright orb hang threateningly right above her. She felt a sudden dread pass through her veins. A shiver passed through her.
It's weird how in the morning the sun is the light, a symbol of love and the reason to fight for the greater good, Hermione thought to herself as she tugged the cloak tighter around her to block out the night's biting cold. Yet the moon, full only so many times, is the light for the dark. However, it is a curse to follow the light it draws out.
But the feeling of uneasiness left her as she remembered that she was on a mission for the greater good. Well, at least it was a greater good mission for Madame Pomfrey – a chance to demonstrate a valuable lesson on her dunderhead apprentice. And since Hermione was the only Potions Major in the castle, she was forced to go and gather all the necessary ingredients and herbs for any sort of potion making, no matter who was making the potion. Lucky her.
She advanced step by step, ignoring the darkened surroundings that haunted her, a sinister illusion one does not wish to face but must. Her head jerked every now and then at the snap of a twig or the hoot of an owl. Silhouettes of nocturnal wildlife foraging heightened her nerves. Hermione chastised herself; she needed to focus completely at the task at hand. It wouldn't do to worry and panic about everything that was bound to occur in nature.
The tree trunks looked surreal and flat, tricking her eyes. They appeared more like a painting than reality. The branches eerily snaked out and opened their wide fingers for any passerby daring to stray too close. Perhaps they intended to grab and shake some sense into them. Or perhaps something more sinister. The dark negative space around the trees grew darker than the night sky; little, beady eyes watched her every move.
Hermione slid the silver knife out of the sheath at her waist, displaying it in warning to the other, more feral creatures that she, too, was dangerous. The reflected light off its tip was enough to scare most of them away.
She ignored her body's need to shiver in fear, but her body refused let her. A smirk crossed her lips; not only was she stubborn, but her body was, too.
She pushed away the branches and pressed on towards her goal. Every now and then a branch defied her, scratching and cutting her milky skin and catching cloak. But she retaliated in the name of justice with a flick of her knife.
Her feet, petite and fragile, tiptoed to avert loud security sensors strategically placed along the forest floor – brittle, rotting twigs and branches, starved of light and life. Her hands, covered in dark red dragon-hide gloves, pushed purposely away at the living, protruding branches about her.
Her only other consolation aside from her knife was the sterling silver necklace Headmistress McGonagall had given her. It was said to ward off dangerous creatures and uneasy spirits. It was only at the last minute that Hermione had remembered it and donned it on her way out of her room. After all, she was going into the Forbidding Forest. She dreaded the thought of dying in the forest simply because she was too stupid to use the protection she had at hand. She'd be put on a on a Chocolate Frog card, her anti-heroic story on the back, with children laughing at her lack of intelligence at the one moment she needed it most. How humiliating.
Returning her focus to the task at hand, she knew she needed to go deeper into the forest for the purple loosestrife. Hagrid personally farmed the plant that required a damp, dark and humid environment. Enter the Forbidden Forest – loosestrife central. Primarily found in North America, those witches and wizards who grew it in Britain took advantage of its rarity and value and sold it for unreasonably high prices.
Believing Americans to be bloody stupid morons, Professor Severus Snape had long ago suggested to Dumbledore to have Hagrid grow and guard it. And so it had been for the last decade.
But since Hagrid was spending his honeymoon in who-knew-where with his "Olympe", Hermione had to extract the plant herself. Lovely.
This wasn't some gentle flower primed for pruning, Hermione had to remind herself. It had spikes that were poisonous to any magical being, and that included magical human beings. So, it had to be extracted at night when it was at its weakest. Some Potions masters and mistresses argued that it didn't matter what time of day it was: any plant was always powerful in its own way. But Hermione's research proved that plants, relying on sunlight to start the photosynthesis process and gain energy, were weakest at night. They also succumbed monthly to the powerful phases of the moon.
Hermione continued, pushing through the misty fog that hung like a foul odor, and looked around. The spacious trees all looked exactly the same; the thickness of trunks and space between all appeared the same in her eyes.
The grip on her knife started to loosen as she felt sweat trickle from the top of her brow into her eyes. The cool, flowing wind passed by her teasingly as if whispering to her to follow it and ignore what she needed to do.
She soon became anxious, desperately scanning her eyes around for the wet patch of fenced-in land. It had to be around here somewhere!
Finally her gaze landed on a rough-hewn section of ground. As she rushed towards it, her feelings of panic increased. The forest made her uneasy, and the longer she remained within its confines, the stronger the sense of someone watching her, daring her to chicken out and run away screaming like the little girl she still was on the inside.
With extreme caution, she carefully climbed over the fence. She sank a few inches as her feet met the sogginess of the damp soil. Patiently, she eased her way through the plantings until she reached the flowers in the middle, where the canopy of the trees were kind enough to open up in the morning to let in some sunlight.
She grabbed the stem of one of the reddish-purple plants, careful to avoid the spikes protruding from it, and swiftly cut the flower from its source of life. She pocketed it carefully in her cloak and turned to leave. Her heart lodged in her throat at the sight before her.
There, outside of the fenced-in area was a large, snarling gray wolf.
Suddenly her heart began to beat furiously and painfully in her chest. She felt the knife start to slip from her grip and the thorns of the plants penetrate her clothing and skin, seeping their poison into her, beginning numb her entire leg.
The wolf began to slowly creep towards her. She forced herself to remember that it wasn't a werewolf, so it was less likely to hurt if it bit her. They also weren't very patient with prey they had to work for. All she had to do was run, dodge, and hide. Simple. By very early morning, it was more than likely to give up on her.
If she was able to avoid it.
She knew that if the wolf entered the grounds, it would be instantly stuck and would no doubt ruin the plants in its attempts to escape. She couldn't allow that. She needed those plants and would be totally devastated if they were ruined; she wouldn't be able to replace them.
Making sure to maintain eye contact since creatures like this were all about the alpha-beta system, she climbed back over the fence and stood stark still. If she avoided its black eyes, she would instantly become its prey, its weaker opponent. And, she remembered reading, in rare cases witches had been "raped" by wolves. It was the essence that all females were considered the beta – the reason why the male always had his way during mating. She definitely did not want to be put in that position. She needed to show that she was brave; she was a Gryffindor after all!
Before she could make her next move toward escape, the plant in her pocket burst out additional liquid acid from its spikes. She groaned and clutched her thigh in pain.
The wolf, seizing its chance, pounced, its long canines aiming for her jugular.
Hermione jumped and backed away, stumbling. She slashed her silver knife in front of her just as the animal closed in. She felt the blade jerk as it sliced and penetrated the tough hide.
She seized her opportunity and started around the wolf with her heart pounding painfully in her chest. Her legs and arms made a rhythmic pattern and propelled her to drive on, her motivation to get out of the forest without playing cat-and-mouse with the wolf.
A loud, pain-induced howl echoed throughout the forest, causing her to shiver as she ran as fast as her slender legs could take her. Unfortunately the acidic pain and numbness in her leg soon rendered the limb useless and she collapsed with a heavy thud and groan.
She repeatedly tried to move her leg, but it would not obey her commands or pleas. Hearing the wolf approach, she began to crawl desperately towards the trunk and roots of a nearby large tree. Her fingers dug into the freezing, rock-hard ground and pulled her body nearer refuge. The silver knife stabbed repeatedly into the forbidding soil, acting as a leverage point from which to drag herself along. Her one working and cooperating leg pushed its moccasin shoe into the dirt in an effort to expedite the journey.
After what seemed an eternity, she reached the tree and began to tuck herself into a ball to hide in the shadows. Just as she settled, the wolf approached and stopped in its tracks. Adjusting her knife into an attack and defend position, Hermione prepared herself for what was to come.
The wolf held its nose to the sky and began to sniff the air. Satisfied, he moved it to the ruffled dirt and began to follow the tell-tale trail to her hiding place. It was fight or flight time, and Hermione doubted she'd be able to flee successfully.
Just as the wolf was coming upon her, its slinking body low and prowling around the tree trunk, a deep growl emitted from the darkness nearby. Suddenly a blur of fur and teeth emerged and tackled the wolf.
Hermione's heart stopped momentarily and her brain froze as she watched the two wolves struggle with one another. Then the unthinkable realization hit: the new attacker was a werewolf.
Her new focus of terror rammed the wolf into just one on outskirts of her vision. Continuously it rhythmically clawed its larger and more deadly nails into the other wolf's dark gray fur. The latter soon lost consciousness if not more. The werewolf then turned around to her, its light brown fur sticking up in warning, bright crimson blood staining its tresses.
The beast turned to fully face her. It was huge. The long, protruding claws also displayed the violently-tinged markings of the previous challenge. With nerve-wracking ease and grace, it made its way toward the painfully vulnerable young woman.
Asking for strength under her breath, Hermione tensed herself into a defensive position, ready to defend her life yet again. But before she could skewer up legendary Gryffindor courage, the gray wolf awoke from its slumber and renewed its attack on the larger, brown beast with as much fury and animal instinct as it could muster.
She knew this time the fight was going to go on longer and, most likely, more aggressively. It was time to escape.
She turned to crawl away. Before she had made a few feet, she found herself tangled in the fury of the fight and adrenaline. Out of instinct, she lashed out with her knife, unsure of which beast she injured. It didn't matter, though. She felt long and sharp teeth embed themselves in her thigh, right where the flower was.
All she remembered before slipping into darkness was her scream of pain and anguish lost within the snarls and howls, all filling and echoing in the darkened forest.
Well? What do you all think?
Mine's a bit different from the other stories that entered for this contest, but you know, there has to be that yellow tulip among the group of red roses.
Review please:) I would be most greatful!