Hello hello lovelies!
I can't sleep, so I finished writing and editing this chapter, and here we are. I am sorry for what is about to happen. The next couple chapters are going to be a bit rough. Well, maybe just really rough. Again, really sorry.
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Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the storyline and any OC's belong to me.
Bleak sunlight fought its way through the overcast sky, the wind tumbled around, whipping at their faces and stinging their flesh.
Life was strange. One moment you were arguing over confectionery and strolling down cobblestone streets without a care in the world. The next you were dodging nasty hexes, and hurling back vicious ones in defense at masked men in dark cloaks.
"James! I don't care about your stupid Gryffindor bravery right now. You need to get out of here and tell someone what's happening!" Hermione yelled as she fired a spell around the side of the column she was hiding behind.
Hermione could taste her heart in her throat. Time did not exist. Each second dragged slower than the last, yet spells ripped through the air like a harsh crack of a treacherous whip.
Draco, Hermione and James had been on a mundane trip to Diagon Alley: just the three of them, a rarity these days as they were almost always accompanied by either Remus, Sirius, Lily or some combination of the three. They were running low on a few ingredients, and decided to visit the apothecary before the daily hustle and bustle kicked in.
The streets were empty, not a soul breathed. It was too quiet, too still.
Hermione's instincts had dulled in the past few years. Hermione Granger in the thick of the war would never have missed the warning signs.
James and Draco were bantering back and forth about what ice-cream or treats they should bring home as a surprise for their Father. Easter Break was steadily nearing an end. James was suggesting they make pancakes and litter them with candy when a red burst of light sailed past his ear—millimetres away—and exploded into a wall behind them.
The War never ended. Not really. In a hair's breadth Hermione was plunged back into her former life; her instincts took ahold of her limbs. Fight or die.
Hermione gruffly grabbed James by the collar of his shirt and dragged him behind a nearby corner. A blur of colour and she caught sight of Draco across the street also taking cover.
Hermione nimbly extracted her wand from her thigh holster. She shoved James's larger form behind her, and he snorted in protest—his own wand drawn.
Draco waved his wand, a gentle flourish that she would have marvelled at if she couldn't taste her heart.
Draco conjured a snake, it shot out of his wand tip, and with a flick of its tail slithered along the path. A plum coloured ball of light viciously smashed into the snake, ripping it to shreds.
"Cute parlour trick!" A voice called.
Hermione's eyes squeezed shut. She recognised that voice, its timbre and particular inflection carved into her brain. Dolohov.
And there is no way he is alone, Hermione thought with a soft whimper. The glance she shared with Draco confirmed her suspicions.
They were far outnumbered; from the glimpse she'd gotten, she estimated around fifteen of them. Although, she'd seen worse odds with Harry and Ron on more than one occasion.
Though this ambush, in broad daylight, in a public setting was highly uncharacteristic. It didn't add up. Hermione's mind was spinning as she tried to make sense of the situation.
"Apparate," Hermione mouthed at Draco. He nodded grimly. He was shoved in a tight nook, but he managed to turn on his heel. Nothing happened. Horror slick and slimy sludged through her veins.
A few of the Death Eaters must be working on anti-apparition wards; effectively trapping the trio here.
How did they know we were going to be here? Why is Diagon Alley abandoned? Why is always us this shite happens to?
In a moment of clarity that rung sharply like a crystal bell, Hermione knew what she had to do. It was of the utmost importance that James got out of here unscathed, he still had a part to play in the following acts. Their roles however were finite, the balance of the cosmos did not depend on their survival.
Harry, Hermione thought. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she could smell him. Warmth ghosted over her limbs, enveloping her, and it was as if she was in his arms again. Hermione's heart ached not for the first time for her friend. Heat pressed against her temple, and her expression crumpled. It was Ron pressing a kiss to her head.
It's going to be okay, Mione, Ron's voice said in her head.
Hermione's eyes flew open. They hadn't much time, their slim window of opportunity was closing.
"James. You need to get help. Draco and I can cover you—"
"I am not going to leave you!" James protested. Hermione figured his bravery and stubbornness would rear their heads. Hermione turned on the spot, facing her brother. She grasped his face, drinking in the details of it.
"James Galieus Potter, you are leaving and that is final. I will give you a signal and—"
"Hermione, I am not leaving you two," James said, his mouth curving with determination.
"Oi! What are you two doing?" Draco yelled across at them, he had been keeping the Death Eaters at bay by firing off spells every few moments.
Hermione had seen the look in James's eyes many a time. It was the same look Harry got when he was obstinate about something and wouldn't budge. So, she made a decision. Hermione stroked her brother's cheeks, and softly said, "stupefy." Red sparks left her fingertips and zipped into James's skin.
James slumped immediately in her arms, and she sank to the ground with him. "I'm sorry," Hermione murmured. She propped him up so his back was against the column, and that he was hopefully comfortable.
Hermione reached around her brother to his back jeans pocket, and after a moment's struggle, fished the Invisibility Cloak out. She unfolded it with a flourish. Hermione stood up, and carefully laid the Cloak over James; he vanished instantly and she'd ensured that he was hidden away from their assailants.
Now time to fight for our lives, Hermione thought. She glanced over at Draco, and he nodded grimly. He understood.
Time was non-existent as they fought back, they fired spells, jinxes, nasty hexes. Anything to keep them alive. They landed multiple targets. It was a deathly dance. A rainbow of colours erupted in the small section of Diagon Alley.
Hermione fired another stunning spell around the corner, and the resulting thud was music to her ears. The whirring buzz of magic charging the air rippled across her eardrums.
We can do this, Hermione thought.
Hermione peeked around once more, and instantly regretted it. Macnair. She recognised him from the future, except his dark hair was less greasy—cropped close to his scalp—and his blue eyes less crazed. The Death Eater was a few feet away, having advanced on them.
Reality slowed.
He was gangly, thin, his arms too long for his body, his torso short and his legs stringy. Yet, his black robes were tailored and fit his physique quite well. There were crimson accents along the front of his waistcoat.
The wizard smiled, a horrid smile with too many teeth, and his lips pulled thinly back. Hermione raised her wand, spell ready on her lips. Macnair was quicker on the draw.
His green spell smashed into her thigh, pain exploded, her leg on fire. The sickening sound of bone crunching cracked through the air. Hermione swallowed her scream, tears unwittingly streaming down her face.
Raw magic coursed through Hermione's veins and she slung a slicing hex at Macnair. Her leg gave out, and the spell missed its target. Instead carving a large chunk out of the cobblestones. Debris went flying. Macnair was blown backwards by the force of her spell; his head hit a wall with a frightening snap and he was rendered unconscious.
Hermione landed clumsily on the ground, her shoulder taking the brunt of the hit. She rolled onto her side, wand still in hand, ready to defend herself to the bitter end. Her breathing was acute and stitches of pain thread along her torso.
An ocean away, Draco snarled loudly and the primal noise reached her.
In agony, she attempted to shift so she could see Draco. The pain in her leg was hot, unbearably uncomfortable. She had endured worse. Unfortunately, she was losing blood fast.
Fuck, Hermione whimpered internally.
Another figure stepped into her field of vision, behind Draco. Draco's attention was focused solely on Macnair. It was Dolohov.
Hermione aimed her wand straight and true, directly at the wizard, but he was a fraction faster. Red sprang from his wand and knocked Draco out.
They'd underestimated their numbers, gotten sloppy and now they were going to pay for it.
No! Hermione cried inside. A tear escaped the corner of her eye.
Dolohov's features weren't as tormented by age. But the scar on his face was still there. Angular, squished features, olive skin, stout but muscular limbs, curly hair.
Everything blurred. The pain was ebbing away, as was her consciousness. Hermione meekly fired a spell at Dolohov's head. A nasty spell that could have killed him had he not diverted it. She knew he would.
He's still going to almost murder me in the Department of Mysteries in about two decades, Hermione thought bitterly. A pleasant tingle ran along her spine as she recalled how Dolohov died.
Dolohov waltzed over to her, duplicating as her vision failed her. He bent down, and his dark, clinical eyes stared into hers.
Hermione mustered up her strength and spat in Dolohov's face. He reared back, growling. He sneered darkly before raising his fist.
Hermione's gaze was past him, at Draco's motionless figure, and a masked Death Eater that had appeared without her realising. The Death Eater's foot rose and they stomped on Draco's back.
Hermione screamed. Dolohov's fist smashed into her face and all was dark.