The House in the Snow

...

The world swayed, and Hermione braced herself against the sudden collision of ground, dropping her wand as she did so. Her hands throbbed with pain as they hit what felt like ice, splattering cold droplets which then settled on her skin as all around her became still. It was quiet now, the thick smog of fire gone and in its place the slight rhythm of wind.

Sitting up from where she had fallen, the witch found herself blinking away from the sudden sunlight that shone against her eyes. It was colder than it had been moments earlier. The frigid wind blew against the witch's face as her eyes adjusted to the light. She squinted around, attempting the make out where she was.

Unlike the withered and dried field of autumn that she had once stood in, Hermione found herself in a field covered completely in snow.

Whatever blood-magic the Death Eater had done to her had sent her... somewhere.

Her heart began to race as she peered around, her hands beginning to tremble from the cold. She was going to freeze to death. Was that what he had intended? Or perhaps she would be eaten -torn apart bit by bit- by a wild animal, by a werewolf? The witch glanced around, suddenly feeling exposed. But, why send her here if his intentions were to simply kill her? Why go through the effort? Hermione shook her head. It didn't make any sense.

Despite the reasoning, whatever he had done to her had been a success. She could tell by the twisted smile that had spread across his face as he had disappeared.

Or, rather she had disappeared.

The thin sweater that Hermione wore blew against her skin, making her whole body begin to shake from the cold, and forcing the thoughts out of her mind. If she was going to survive, she needed to act now, think later. And, the first thing she needed to do was find the wand she had dropped at impact.

Extending her arm and splaying her fingers out, the witch steadied herself, "Accio wand"

The wind whistled as it picked up.

"Accio wand!"

She waited a moment, before realizing nothing was going to happen. Kicking around in the snow with her flat, it took only a moment before Hermione saw the hard wood of her wand, and when she did she felt her heart nearly break.

"Shit!" she screamed at the splintered pieces that lay in the dirty sludge and were barely held together by a strip of wood.

Hermione flung down to lift the pieces only to be met with a sharp pain that needled its way through the arm that had been cursed, making her drop the wood back to the ground.

The witch winced, grabbing her arm, before letting go with another groan of pain.

Looking down at her hand she found that she was still bleeding. The red flowed and leaked from her palm onto the white snow below. The cut was deeper than she had thought, and Hermione knew the first thing she needed to focus on was getting herself healed. She was bleeding too quickly and losing too much blood.

Rubbing her eyes with her opposite arm in order to take away the spots of darkness, the witch looked around to see if she could find any signs of civilization. She was met with nothing but fields and trees surrounding her. The wind picked up, blowing a spray of snow towards her. Wiping the cold wet from her face, Hermione looked around more frantically. Anything, anything. She spun, as panic began to jostle through her body.

This was the end, this is how she was going to go. Not by war -not by a curse- no, she was going to die cold and alone, and no one would ever know what happened to her.

Her lips began to tremble, and as she felt that it was useless to continue a smudge of red in a world of white and grey caught the witch's attention. Squinting through the wind, she realized that it was a house snuggled just behind the tree line.

Walking to the house through the drifts of snow proved harder that she had anticipated. The cold spread through her body quickly, her tights and flimsy sweater doing nothing for protection from the cold, making each step numb and stiff. Hermione knew she was losing heat fast, and if she didn't get somewhere warm soon she would die from hypothermia.

Just one more step.

Something caught against her foot, making her body slam against the ground. It's just so cold, she shivered from the snow that melted and clung to her remaining body heat.

Don't give up, after everything you have been through your going to give up now?

But, I'm tired... so cold...

Her eyes drifted shut.

With a gasp for breath, Hermione sat up quickly as a tremor wound through her body, making her keel backwards. The sudden pain of barely catching herself against the ground with the palms of her hands made the witch open her eyes. The realization that she had just drifted off to sleep made the witch shake with fear. She had been so close to death; no, she wouldn't let this happen to her. Getting on her hands and knees, Hermione began to crawl forward inch by inch.

Then, taking a shallow breath that rattled her bones, the witch stood.

Stumbling forward, the house seemed to steadily get closer and finally—finally—she found herself at the door. The witch knocked on it with her good hand, until it creaked open to reveal a young man in formal robes. The warmth from the house flooded around the witch and cocooned her in the pleasant smell of firewood.

Sweet, spicy, and warm.

"Hello?" she swayed as she spoke, the dizziness intensifying as she suddenly felt drowsy again. The wizard's blonde hair shone under the blaringly cold sun as his mouth moved to form words, but only the drone of wind met her ears. The silence surrounding her made Hermione wonder if she had hallucinated this man, this house. Was any of this real?

The witch felt her eyes drift close again at the thought. She was tired. So bloody tired.

If it's not real, that means it doesn't matter if I give up.

As her eyes shut completely, Hermione felt her body being pulled through the doorway and the distinct snap of the door being shut behind her. If there were other sounds, she realized she could not hear them. She couldn't hear anything but a deep humming that the lack of wind had left behind.

A sudden pain across her cheek made the witch jump and recoil, but solid voices were now clear against her ears.

"Hold on to her." A forceful voice ordered. Hermione suddenly felt heavy arms hovering against her shoulders. "Do not fall asleep."

Looking up, the witch found a different man than the one who had opened the door looking down at her. Familiar dark eyes, that she just couldn't place, pierced through hers as he waited for some answer to a question that she hadn't remembered being asked. The sound of snippets of conversation that surrounded her was overwhelming, making it difficult to understand anything at all.

"...I don't know. She was just standing there, outside!"

"There is too much blood loss, I..."

"...get the potion. Now!"

Calloused hands felt warm as they patted Hermione's face. She leaned into them, feeling soothed, if only slightly, as she listened to the commanding voice of the dark eyed wizard. "You need to drink this."

A thick liquid was forced onto her tongue, and the witch pulled her eyes away from the wizards as she attempted to choke it down.

"Good girl."

The haze slowly disappeared as whatever had been given to her settled in her stomach, making Hermione groan at the punctuated pain that thrummed through her body.

"I only gave you a blood replenisher. I will need to heal your hand to completely stop the bleeding." The wizard's words were clearer now, "It's going to be painful."

Hermione nodded grimly, her voice gravelly. as she prepared herself for the pain, "okay."

The feel of her skin knitting itself back together brought a hiss that bubbled up and out of her lips. The intense pain scoured through her body, then faded into a dull throb. It hadn't been the worst pain she had ever felt, but Hermione was relieved that it was over. It was all over, she was alive.

The witch sagged in relief against the person who held her as blessed silence took over the house.

Despite what had occurred to her outside of the Burrow, she was alive. Hermione felt both pride and anger welling up inside her. The witch opened the eyes she hadn't realized that she closed. In front of her, her thin arm was still extended-her hand in the dark eyed wizard's palm-the sleeve of her sweater pushed up in an effort to see her injury in its totality.

As clear as day, the scar that Belllatrix had carved into her blared red between them.

The feel of being stared at from all sides crept through her skin.

She knew that her scar, the ragged mudblood, was disturbing to most people. It didn't bother Hermione anymore though. After having to stare at it, obsess over it, for nearly a year, it meant nothing to the muggleborn witch. It was a part of her. That had been just another divider between her and her boys. They had begged her to glimmer it, to hide it away. She couldn't do that.

The witch didn't look up from their clasped hands, she didn't want to see the stupid look of pity that seemed to bulge the eyes of anyone who had a good look at her scars.

Snatching her hand from the man's, Hermione stood straighter and nudged the person behind her to let her go.

The strong arm around her loosened only slightly, "Are you sure you stand by yourself, kukla?"

It took only a moment for the words to register through Hermione's brain before her world dimmed, and then cleared with terrifying clarity. Although whispered, the man's words seemed to hit the air and cling desperately to the silence that followed. Silent, save for the sharp beating that violently filled Hermione's chest.

Hermione knew that voice, that accent, that word. Kukla.

It was a word that had been terrorizing her nights for years, always preventing her from getting any proper sleep.

Despite having embraced the fear, the sound of his voice made her feel as if she were that child again, writhing against a death that was seemingly inevitable. At the memory, Hermione's body stiffened with a sudden sting of phantom pain that ran along the scar on her chest, making her hand clench and legs weaken beneath her. The scar burned and pulsed below her skin like lightning. In response to her movements, the arms around her torso tightened once more, the man's breath brushed warm against the exposed skin of her neck.

The breath of-

At the realization of just who held her so snuggly against their body, Hermione became suddenly aware of the man towering in front of her. Of the shadow of other large figures filling the room. The shadow of other Death Eaters.

Wrenching herself away, Hermione scurried forward and spun around.

At her brash motions, her tired body finally gave out, making her stumble and fall to her knees. Hermione winced at the impact; the cold, wet fabric of her school skirt only seeming to emphasize the biting sting of the hard floor. Grimacing, she balanced herself against the smooth stone with the palms of her hands to look up at the man hovering over her.

-Antonin Dolohov.