There had been so many people rushing out of the campsite and into the treeline that the woods should have felt crowded. It was oddly quiet, though; whatever noise might have come from the campsite was muffled by the dense, mossy trunks of trees, and there were whispers around but Ron couldn't tell if they were from people he couldn't see, or just the wind.
"Melumen," he muttered, and a blob of white light formed at the tip of his wand, growing - the way a drop of water in a tap might - until it was about the size of his fist. Then, it broke free of the wand and floated up to hover level with his ear. It was a spell he'd found in one of Bill's old books; cursebreakers couldn't afford to have their wands occupied with a Lumos charm while they working.
He looked around, nervous; he knew with so many people around the Ministry would never be able to tell it was him that was doing magic outside of school; that was how Harry and Malfoy got away with it in the holidays. The Ministry would have to be pretty unfair to begrudge him a bit of light when he was alone and Merlin-only-knew-what was going on back at the campsite, but he also thought it'd be just his luck to be expelled for something as silly as a lighting spell.
When, after a few seconds, no one official had popped out from behind the trees to try to snap his wand, he snorted at himself for even worrying about it, and began to make his way through the woods.
He hoped everyone was all right, that Hermione and Malfoy had managed to stay together, that Fred and George had listened to Dad and were looking after Ginny, and that Harry had found either of their little groups, or Sirius or Remus or someone. He hoped Dad and Percy and Bill and Charlie weren't too caught up in whatever it was that was going on, hoped Mum hadn't heard what was happening, so she wouldn't be sitting at home worrying about them all, and more than anything, Ron hoped that he'd read the tense look on Harry's face wrong, hoped this was just a few rowdy Quidditch fans and not something more sinister.
When are we ever that lucky, though?
A twig snapped nearby, and Ron froze, wand snapping up. The little ball of light bobbing along above his shoulder stopped too.
"Who's there?" Ron asked. His voice was sharp, and steady.
"No one that wants you around, so keep walking, Weasel." Malfoy - not the one Ron liked - turned to look at Ron over his shoulder; he'd found himself a gap to watch the campsite through; Ron could see a pack of dark robed figures marching along with people suspended upside-down in the air above them. Other figures in black were scattered in twos and threes throughout the campsite, setting tents alight and throwing spells at whoever came in range, or caught up in duels with the Aurors and other Ministry staff that were trying to get things under control. "Scared of the big, dark forest, Weasel? Can't blame you, you being a blood traitor, and all, but I hope you're not sticking around for protection." Malfoy's eyes glittered in the light of Ron's spell. "I'd hand you over in a heartbeat."
"No surprises there," Ron muttered darkly. For all the flashing lights down at the campsite, it was still too dark for Ron to recognise anyone, and there was enough noise that it was impossible to pick out individual voices. "Don't suppose you've seen any of my lot?"
"I stepped on a slug, earlier," Malfoy replied. "Does that count?"
"You're a git, you know that?" Ron asked, grinding his teeth.
"And you're unwelcome," Malfoy said, waving a hand in dismissal. "Shoo." When Ron didn't move, he cocked his head, smiling nastily. "Unless you're here to enjoy the show…?" His pale eyes flicked back to the floating people. "Are you hoping Granger's one of the muggles up there, Weasel, so you might get a chance to see her knickers-"
Ron saw red. Malfoy, he imagined, would have seen a freckled fist and then the leafy canopy in quick succession.
"You assaulted me!" Malfoy said, leaning heavily against his tree now, with a hand pressed to his bleeding lip. "You wait until my father hears about this-"
"I reckon he's a bit busy to be listening to you right now," Ron said. "That's him over there, isn't it, running around in one of those dark cloaks?" Malfoy sneered at him, but his eyes were wary and fixed on Ron's wand, but his hand - the one not dabbing at his lip, was inching toward his pocket. "Expelliarmus," Ron said. His wand flew out of his hand and toward Ron, who let it soar past without bothering to catch it. It landed somewhere behind him. Malfoy's eyes blazed.
"Magic outside of school," he said, after a moment. "They can expel you for that, you know. And I'll see to it that they do-"
"Magic outside of school?" Ron said, widening his eyes the way the twins did when they were trying to look innocent. "I did, yeah. I'm just a poor old blood traitor in a big, dark, forest, though, and I saw a dark figure in the trees, and thought it was one of the cloaked lot that were terrorising the campsite. I managed to punch them, and disarm them, and get them in a partial body-bind before I ran off, scared."
"Partial-?"
"Torpeo," Ron said. Malfoy's legs snapped together and his left arm clamped down against his side. "Partial body-bind, yeah." Malfoy hopped a few times, right arm flailing but his balance failed and he fell awkwardly to the ground with a snarl. "It's not as good as a full body-bind," Ron said, "but I'm also not a complete git, so…"
"Weasley-"
"Can't hear you, dark-figure-in-the-trees," Ron said, turning to leave. "I'm scared and running away."
"Well, here looks as good a place as any," George said. He brushed a layer of leaves off a fallen log, and made a grand gesture at it. "Your seat, fair lady."
Ginny poked her tongue out at him and stepped forward to sit, only to be shoved out of the way by Fred, who gathered up imaginary skirts and lowered himself delicately onto the log.
"Oh, thank you," he said in a shrill, snooty voice that made all three of them laugh. "I don't suppose I could get a cup of tea as well, my dear, perhaps with a spot of brandy? No? I'll have to settle for a bit of Gin, then." And with that, Fred pulled Ginny down onto the log beside him, tickling her.
"S-stop it," she laughed, fending him off with her elbows. George plopped down on her other side, and the three of them huddled together. Ginny was grateful for the warmth; it was cold and a bit damp in the woods.
"Holding up all right?" George asked, nudging her.
"Yeah," Ginny said, and it was the truth; she was fine. It was everyone else she was worried about. "Do you reckon we'll be here long?"
"Depends on how long it takes Harry to scare off whatever trouble's come after him this time," Fred said fondly. Ginny frowned at him, about to tell him that wasn't funny, but someone else spoke:
"Too long," an unfamiliar female voice said from a dark patch of trees on their left. "At least for you."
Fred and George looked toward the invisible speaker and drew their wands in unison. Ginny snatched hers out of her pocket.
There was a flash of light from the opposite direction to the speaker. Before any of them could react, an orange spell hit Fred with a sickening crunch, and he toppled backward over their log. He was silent as he fell, but George made a strange, choking, gasping sound, as if he'd been the one hit.
"Fred!" Ginny almost didn't recognise her own voice, shrill and panicked as it was. George's hand closed around her arm and yanked her behind him. His eyes were fixed on the two dark figures that had stepped from the trees, wands raised, but she could tell from the painfully tight grip he had on her that his mind was with his twin; Fred had not yet got to his feet, or said anything.
One of the figures was tall and thin, while the other was short and squat - the short one being the woman who'd spoken. Both wore dark robes and white, skeletal masks that covered the top half of their faces. Though Ginny had never seen them before - at least not in person - Tom had drawn them in his old diary once upon a time, back when he was barely older than she was now.
Knights of Walpurgis, he'd labelled them, though Ginny knew they went by a different name these days; Death Eaters.
The two walked almost casually to stand beside each other, apparently unbothered by the fact that both Ginny and George had their wands trained on them. Ginny was beginning to lose feeling in her fingers.
"George," Ginny muttered, trying to shake him loose. "George, ow."
"Fred," George muttered back, voice hoarse, and eyes never leaving the danger across the clearing. "Can you check-?"
Trusting him to cover her if the Death Eaters tried anything, Ginny risked a glance over her shoulder, heart in her throat. Fred lay still and pale on the leafy ground, but she could see his breath misting in the air, and couldn't see any blood.
George waited until she'd turned around to let his eyes flick her way, and though she'd not yet said anything, it was clear he could tell from her expression that Fred was alive. His fingers loosened on her arm, and some of the tightness in his expression eased.
"Right," George said, and his voice shook; Ginny thought it was with equal parts fury and relief, rather than fear. "I'm going to give the pair of you-" He flicked his wand between the Death Eaters, and they both twitched their wands up. "-exactly three seconds to fuck off before I make you." The two exchanged glances, and their body language relaxed; they were confident, she realised, curling her lip. "One."
A pair of - presumably - fully qualified Death Eaters should be confident against a pair of students, but watching them, Ginny began to think they were not just confident, but overconfident. And, perhaps, if George wasn't George, and Ginny wasn't Ginny, they'd have been right to be. Except George was George; he was one half of a pair made rather formidable by their interest in meddling with obscure and annoying branches of magic, and he was a big brother that had been told to watch out for his little sister. And, Ginny was Ginny, with a magical knowledge that consisted of the Hogwarts first and second year syllabus, but also a jumble of memories from Tom Riddle's own Hogwarts days. More than that, though, she was becoming less afraid and more angry with each moment that passed.
"Two," George said, and then, instead of 'three' muttered something Ginny didn't quite catch. Several firecrackers burst from the end of his wand and popped noisily in the clearing with flashes of bright light. Taking advantage of the distraction, George shook something small and colourful into his sleeve and then said, "Waddiwassos." Whatever it was that had been in his hand sped over to the nearest Death Eater - the tall one, who staggered back, spluttering.
"Protego," Ginny said, deflecting a spell from the shorter Death Eater. It hit a tree with a sizzling noise. The second spell hit the log Fred was lying behind, and Ginny bared her teeth. "Tracagnum." The female Death Eater flinched, flailing in panic as she was hit with invisible blows.
That's my girl, Tom murmured into Ginny's head, approval clear in his tone, and she shuddered. The Death Eater remembered herself and flicked her wand, cancelling Ginny's bludgeoning hex, but was too slow to block Ginny's next spell:
"Pulmona Ligo," Ginny said. The Death Eater shuddered and opened her mouth but no sound came out, nor did any air. No air would be going in either, at least not while she had petrified Ginny's head Tom's voice whispered darker variations of the curse, ones that wouldn't wear off until death, but she ignored him; this curse would wear off as soon as she was unconscious, and that suited Ginny just fine. There was a countercurse, of course, but if the woman knew it, she was either too uncomfortable or too frightened to manage it.
She watched as the woman pressed a hand to her chest, and waved the other at her companion for help.
She wouldn't be getting any; the other Death Eater was currently struggling with their tongue - which was hanging level with their knees - and with George, who was throwing spell after spell after spell, and showing no sign of easing up. They were doing an admirable job, all things considered, but it was clear George's barrage was wearing them down.
Ginny sent a bat bogey hex at the woman, who'd fallen to her knees; somehow, she managed to block it with a silent Shield Charm, so Ginny shot off another two in quick succession.
It's unsporting to hex someone when they're already down, you know, Tom said.
So's attacking children, Ginny said, indulging the voice with an answer that wasn't 'shut up' or 'go away', for the first time in a long time. She and George had only fared as well as they had because they'd been underestimated, and perhaps also because the Death Eaters had been looking to terrorise and not kill them; if they had been, Fred wouldn't be breathing.
If either of the two recovered enough to fight back properly, Ginny was fairly sure they'd be fighting to kill. Best not to give them the opportunity.
Ginny's Death Eater twitched and collapsed, her mask bulging as green bogeys tried to escape from it. George's Death Eater saw and slashed his wand toward them; Ginny was too slow with her Shield Charm, but it wouldn't have made a difference; the spell passed through George's hasty Shield Charm as if it hadn't even been there. Ginny felt like she'd been kicked in the stomach, and went tumbling backward, cracking her head against the log they'd been sitting on earlier. She saw stars, and her chest hurt something fierce. George landed beside her with a grunt, but wasn't still for long; she could hear him moving, and then- silence.
"Good bloody riddance," George said, and she heard him let out a loud sigh as he rolled over to face her. "Ginny?"
"M'okay." She pushed herself upright to prove it, but George had taken her at her word, and was already throwing himself over the log to kneel by Fred. Ginny scrambled after him, wincing as her head throbbed.
"Fred?" George grabbed his twin by the shoulders and shook him. "Freddie?"
Ginny lifted her wand, ready to cast a Rennervate, but it wasn't necessary; with more vehement swearing than she'd ever heard before, Fred convulsed into consciousness. George threw himself down onto Fred, hugging him.
"STOP!" Fred's legs kicked, as if he was having a fit. The next thing out of his mouth was an agonised, wordless scream.
"Fred?" Ginny asked, voice wavering.
"Finite," George said worriedly, leaning back a bit. "It's all right, Freddie, they're gone, no one's attacking us-"
"I'm not cursed," Fred said, through gritted teeth. He sucked in a breath and let it out with a hiss of words Mum would strangle him for knowing, let alone saying. "I don't care who's gone, or where." He took another furious, pained breath. "I'll attack you myself if you don't get off my shoulder." George shifted and Fred gasped and went white.
"Bad?" George asked, looking rather pale himself now.
"Remember the time I- put nettles in your Quidditch breeches?" George cringed. "Worse than that. A thousand times worse."
"Are they gone?"
"For now," Hermione muttered, pushing her hair out of her face with one hand, and clutching her side with the other. "I want to know how they keep finding us, though!" She and Draco had been attacked a second time before they reached the forest, and a third time within it, thought the last had been less of a fight than a chase. Neither she or Draco were as fast or fit as Harry or Ron, so rather than stumble around in the woods, they'd doubled back to the campsite and lost their pursuers in the mess of tents and spellfire. They were currently hiding inside an abandoned tent, trying to catch their breath.
"Merlin knows." Draco rubbed at a bit of dirt on his trousers, frowned, then seemed to give it up as a bad job. He edged forward to join Hermione at the entrance. "What's the plan?"
"Well, I'd like to avoid being cursed by any of the Death Eaters," Hermione tightened her grip on her wand, and nodded out into the spell-lit campsite. "And I suppose we ought to find the others as quickly as we can… Oh, I hope they're all right." She'd suspected from the moment Harry stood up back at the Weasleys' campsite that Voldemort or his followers were behind this, but had known when she first saw the masks the cloaked figures were wearing; she'd seen them before, in a photo in Rise And Fall Of The Dark Arts, and she worried that it wasn't a matter of whether the others were in trouble, but of how bad the trouble they were in was.
A distant boom shook the tent, and Hermione could hear shouting in response, then approaching footsteps. She and Draco tucked themselves into the corner, out of sight, and waited for whoever it was to pass them by.
Stay here, or move… stay, or move… Hermione bit her lip and peered outside again. There was another boom, this one closer, and Hermione assumed there was fire involved, because orange light flared through the canvas.
"We need to move," she said, gesturing to Draco.
"Where?" His eyes flicked around over her shoulder, and his expression was wary. "Back to the woods?"
"I don't know," Hermione said, "but I-" There was more orange light outside the tent - less of a flash than a ball - and it was growing. Hermione's eyes widened. Draco turned and baulked.
The pair of them scrambled out into the night, mere moments a large fireball collided with the tent and flared, blindingly bright, and incredibly hot.
She brought up a hand to shield her eyes from the sudden brightness, face stinging, and hair smelling like it was burning, and stumbled back a few steps away. When she was no longer hot enough that she felt she was in danger of catching fire herself, she lowered her arm, and looked around.
Draco was a few feet away, looking singed and a bit dazed, but otherwise unhurt. Hermione nodded to let him know she was all right, and then, there was a flash of red and he collapsed.
Hermione ducked in response, rightly predicting an attack; a blue spell soared overhead. She hurried to Draco's side.
"Ren- Protego!" Hermione was knocked backward as a dark green spell collided with her shield, but it held. She stayed where she was, crouched by Draco, watching, listening, then heard movement behind a tent, and saw the white of one of those awful, skull-like masks. Hermione narrowed her eyes, unbothered by the fact that her target was out of sight, because there were ways around that: "Bombarda!" Chunks of earth and wood and shreds of canvas burst into the air, and she could hear a man's muffled cursing. Debris peppered her and Draco, and Hermione flinched and cast a quick shield charm to protect them from the worst of it. "Rennervate."
Draco stirred, and Hermione let out a sigh of relief.
Quick footsteps had her relief vanishing almost immediately though, and she spun, wand snapping up:
"Stupefy!"
Mrs Malfoy swatted the spell away, apparently unimpressed. Hermione stared at her; she was out of place in all this chaos, unruffled and apparently unafraid in a dark green, expensive looking dressing gown; she didn't even have her wand out. Mrs Malfoy's stare made Hermione feel very small and grubby, but she straightened her back and refused to let on that that was the case.
After a moment, Mrs Malfoy's eyes dropped to Draco, who'd pushed himself up and was looking at the small crater Hermione's earlier spell had made. There was no movement behind the tent anymore; whoever had been there had either left or was waiting…
"Mother?" Draco had just noticed Mrs Malfoy. The older witch eyed Hermione, as if to be sure she wasn't going to attack her, then strode forward to crouch beside her son. Hermione kept her eyes on the tent she'd ruined.
"Are you hurt?" Mrs Malfoy asked. Everything was still and quiet around them, so Hermione felt safe enough to move her attention to Draco.
"No, I'm fine," Draco said slowly. Mrs Malfoy nodded, and her eyes flicked to Hermione. After a moment, she arched an eyebrow.
"Well?" After a moment, it occurred to Hermione that Mrs Malfoy was talking to her. Hermione's mouth fell open but she recovered herself quickly and shook her head. "Good." Mrs Malfoy straightened, and Draco got to his feet as well, eyes never leaving his mother.
The intensity of the eye contact made Hermione think they were having a silent conversation, but she wasn't sure what about; she knew Draco well enough to know the tightness around his eyes meant he was feeling annoyed or defensive, but Mrs Malfoy was impassive but for the slight arch of her right eyebrow, and that gave Hermione very little to go on; perhaps it was about the Death Eaters, or perhaps it was about Draco sneaking off to the Weasleys' fire earlier in the night.
Perhaps Mrs Malfoy was simply silently chastising her son for how dirty his face and clothes were.
"Let's go," Mrs Malfoy said. After a moment, Draco tucked his wand away and nodded. He still didn't look happy exactly, but he looked relaxed. Hermione's mouth fell open again.
"Are you mad?" she whispered, catching his arm. "They're still out there-"
"And if they're who we think they are," he muttered back, shrugging her off, "they're not going to attack my mother or anyone with her." His tone wasn't quite rude but it was arrogant, and not in his usual playful way. It reminded her more of Hydrus than anything, and it unsettled her.
"But..." She gave Draco a beseeching look, but his expression didn't change. "The others…"
"Good luck finding them," Mrs Malfoy said. Hermione frowned at her for eavesdropping, but Mrs Malfoy didn't seem to care. "Better that you find somewhere safe to sit and wait until this is over, and then go looking."
Hermione was under no obligation to go with them, and she didn't think Mrs Malfoy would make any effort at all to stop her if she decided to leave… but she didn't think Draco would be allowed to go with her, and she had no idea where to start looking for the others, which meant she'd be alone. She'd be hurt or killed, or worse - taken, and used to lure Harry like she had been in June. And if Ron got caught up in it trying to help her like he had in June, or if one of the others did…
She looked at Draco, half-hoping he'd say something, or perhaps implore his mother to help them find the others - if she was so untouchable, surely they could use her - but he wasn't even looking at her.
"All right," Hermione said, her voice coming out smaller and wobblier than she would have liked. Draco did look at her then, rather sharply, but a few moments passed and he said nothing and did nothing except let his expression settle into something aloof again.
She understood that Draco probably had to be distant with her around his mother if he didn't want a talking to about mudbloods and the right sorts of friends and proper behaviour, but that didn't mean she liked it. She watched him for just long enough that she was sure he'd be able to tell - Draco was usually good at reading her - then turned and strode after Mrs Malfoy.
