Chapter 1:
Shadows
Cold air nipped at Hermione's fingers. The stereotypical British weather wasn't on the Order's side, the icy wind seeping through their clothes and into their skin. Whilst the others shivered in their sleep, Hermione sat waiting for George and Neville to reappear from between the trees. They had gone patrolling a few hours ago, leaving her to sit and guard the camp. When they returned, they'd wake up Luna, Hannah Abbott and Ron so that the base stayed well-protected whilst she was able to enjoy a short but blissful sleep.
Everything seemed to make her jump. The low howl of the wind, the rustling of the leaves, Arthur Weasley's soft snores. She could no longer tell if her hands were shaking from the cold or from fear. Probably a bit of both. Her hands gripped tightly on to the open book placed on her lap, fingers digging into the aging parchment. Hermione rolled her head back and rested her crown against the tough bark of the tree that was perched behind her.
She always liked looking at the night sky. It was calm and serene. To some people, a never-ending black abyss was terrifying but to Hermione it was peaceful. Tiny stars poked through the sea of darkness and she counted them to pass the time. It was too dark to read now and a Lumos could bring attention to their whereabouts to passer-by's. With an awful lot of effort and squinting she managed to make out Orion's belt. That meant Sirius was close by.
Five weeks. That was how long the Order had been stationed here. It felt twice as long. There was no hot water, no where sanitary for people to relieve themselves. Hermione, Arthur and George had eventually managed to fashion a little privacy area near the creek. An intricate circle of invisibility for people to do what was necessary to maintain hygiene. Behind that invisible barrier was essentially two buckets. One for bathing and the other for less clean activities. There was only a certain amount of times where you could clean yourself via magic without still feeling disgusting.
Hermione felt herself going a bit mad sometimes. Not with hysteria or from the memories of all those blank dead faces she left rotting back at Hogwarts. They were definitely contributors, but the main factor was boredom. Her daily routine was so consistent. Wake up; read; eat; read; stand guard; read; survey the area; read; eat; read; sleep. Then repeat. Every once in a while, there was that terrifying yet exhilarating moment when she and someone else who would go foraging for food in the nearby markets and other local shops. Funnily enough, her disguising spells had greatly improved from the amounts of times she had to use them to go and prowl around the Muggles farmer's market.
When she did go shopping it was usually with George or Ron. The last two surviving Weasley siblings. Molly kept to her tent most days and on the odd occasion she would come out it'd be to go to the creek to wash. Every night, without fail, her cries echoed around the forest. Her husband put a silencing charm around their tent in case any passer-by Death Eaters heard her sobs. Hermione tried to take over Molly's position as the head chef, but it was quickly discovered that her knowledge of spells was much more extensive than her knowledge of food. Arthur tried to maintain a strong façade for his two sons, but as soon as he put it up it would just come crumbling down. He spent most of his days repressing emotions and failing to be optimistic.
Crack. Hermione sprang to her feet, drawing her wand with lightning speed. In the blink of an eye, she had gone from stargazing to a duel stance with her wand ready and poised. She involuntarily sighed with relief when she saw Ron standing there with his hands raised in surrender. "Ronald Billus Weasley get back to bed!" she hissed quietly.
"Can't sleep." He whispered meekly. Hermione sighed exasperatedly and settled herself back on the ground, twigs digging into her back. She motioned for him to sit, to which he eagerly accepted the invitation and flopped down next to her.
"Do try to be quiet." She murmured. Her words were more aggressive than her tone. She nuzzled into Ron's side. "Merlin, your warm."
"If you're cold why not just use a warming charm?"
"I did. Do you really think magic can win against typical British weather?" she asked cuddling closer.
He snorted. Ron wrapped an arm around Hermione's shoulders and hesitantly placed his head on top of hers. But then her manic hair nearly suffocated him, so he thought it best to just copy her earlier position and lean it against the tree.
"How's your mum?" Hermione asked eventually.
Ron's chest heaved. "A little better, I think. She smiled earlier. It wasn't, y'know, a real one. But I'm counting it as a win…" His voiced trailed away, his dull blue eyes fixing themselves on the sky. He looked very pensive, with his brow creased in thought and his eyes absently gazing at nothing. Out of habit he drew patterns on Hermione's shoulder but apart from that he seemed completely unaware of her presence. She decided to reopen her book and skimmed through the pages, her poor eyes squinting to see the words through the darkness that smothered the pages. "What're you reading?" He asked.
"'The Elaborate and Complex Intricacies of Defensive Magic'."
"Mm. Sounds riveting."
"This coming from the man that earlier this week found great entertainment by pelting a tree with rocks. In what world is reading a book less appealing than abusing a tree?"
"In all of them." Ron smirked when he saw Hermione rolling her eyes. "Can't handle it when you're wrong can you?" he teased and nudged her side.
"I wouldn't know. I'm not acquainted with the sensation."
Ron chuckled lowly. "Only you." He muttered. A cold breeze washed over them and Ron shuddered, pulling Hermione closer. "You're right, it's bloody freezing." Pulling out her wand out from her sleeve, Hermione murmured a small warming charm. Heat immediately swept through her and she sighed with contentment, Ron doing the same next to her. "Cheers."
They both sat in companionable silence. Enjoying the calm stillness that night brought with it. Ron wasn't the only one that was up after hours it seemed. Seamus and Justin Finch-Fletchley were huddled in front of their tent, the distant echo of chatter ringing through the camp. Hermione turned her head back to the direction Neville and George walked through. Once again, it would seem she was surrounded by boys.
She felt eyes boring into the back of head and turned to see her best friend with damp patches drying on his cheeks. Unhesitatingly she brought her hand to his pale face and rubbed her thumb over the tears on his face.
"Do you miss him?" Ron asked quietly, averting his eyes from her face.
"You're going to have to be a little more specific."
"Harry." He said, his voice wavering "Do you miss Harry?"
Hermione stiffened. There had been an unspoken agreement between everyone in the camp that no one was to mention the third member of the Golden Trio. It was a rule. And Ron had broken it.
Harry was gone. Every time Hermione reviewed that thought, grief would weigh down on her chest making it heavy to the point where breathing became hard. Her throat closed up and her heart would ache. Tears would fill her eyes, but she'd never let them fall. There was always this hope that he wasn't truly gone. The last time he 'died' minutes later he jumped from Hagrid's arms with his wand ready. Looking back on it now, she wished he had just stayed dead the first time so she wouldn't have this naive hopefulness that any second now, he would just pop out from nowhere alive and smiling.
Smiling. That thought hit her heart. Something that had been absent from his face for so long and now she never would never see it again.
She felt so many emotions when she thought of Harry and all of them did nothing to balm her pain. Bittersweet. That's what Harry was. He was painful to think about; the way he died was unjustified, his family were either dead or cruel, he had so much more life to live. But it was impossible to think of him without the smallest hint of a smile. He was so pure. He was hopeless with emotions but never did anything with spiteful intentions. His whole debacle with Cho Chang immediately sprung to mind; him being so awfully embarrassed every second they were together. Something she delighted herself teasing him with.
Merlin, Hermione missed him. She missed him so much. However, her throat was closing, and she resisted against the tears that fought to stream down her face, so all she could manage to say in response was, "Yeah. I do."
"Me too." Was her companion's reply, the break in his voice hinting he was feeling the same consuming emotions she was. Neither Ron nor Hermione added anything to their conversation after that. They both sat there together under the tree, looking up at the faint glowing stars. The whispering between the trees made up for their lack of conversation.
It was at that moment they realised any trace of Harry Potter; the real Harry Potter would die with them.
"Hermione!" Neville called as he trudged his way back to the clearing. The abrupt sound sent her flying and just like before, she leapt into a duelling stance, her wand pointed at the reckless boy who thought it a good idea to scare a paranoid witch.
"Woah, 'Mione." George said as he pulled up beside the terrified Neville. "Just us. You can put the wand away."
Embarrassed at her own behaviour, her cheeks and ears flushed a self-conscious red hue, "Sorry." She cleared her throat and looked down at Ron before she nodded in the direction of her tent. "I'll go get Luna and Hannah. Wait here." She whispered, subtly sliding her wand back into the inside of her jumpers' sleeve.
Leaves and twigs crunched under the heavy soles of her boots as she trekked her way back to her tent. Once inside, she could immediately feel all the cold from outside being overpowered by the dozens of complex warming charms she had placed on the material of the four walls. It was a decent sized tent, with room for three small beds, a dressing table, a shelf for Hermione's books and a little desk tucked away in the corner of the room. Obviously, the outer exterior suggested that not half the number of things that fit in here would be able to.
On two of the beds seemed to be two sets of detached blond hair, that were splayed over the starch white pillows. Thick duvets covered the rest of the bed and some sort of lumpy form underneath. At first glance, it appeared that both Luna and Hannah had been engulfed by their beds.
With as much stealth and silence as possible Hermione crept to Luna's bed and knelt down on one leg. "Luna…" she cooed lightly, gently stroking the soft peroxide blond curls. There was no movement from the mass underneath the blankets, but a soft purr seemed to be coming from it. Hermione tried again with a firmer tone, "Luna." No movement whatsoever. "Luna!" The sleeping figure abruptly sat up, her head only missing Hermione's by the breadth of a hair. Still half-asleep Luna snatched her wand from its place on the bed next to her and kept its tip pointing at her friend, who had already rocked back on to her feet and stood erect with her own wand drawn. "Hey, Luna. It's just me." Hermione hushed softly. "You're fine."
All panic evaded Luna's silvery eyes the moment they settled on Hermione's face. Her features softened and her shoulders sagged with relief. "Is it our turn already?" she breathed; her familiar silky voice thick with sleep.
"Yeah. Sorry." Both girls slipped their wands away. Hermione sat on the edge of her bed, yanking off her boots and shrugging off her coat and second jumper. Luna was copying Hermione's earlier position and was bent over Hannah, attempting to rouse her from sleep. It took a good few attempts from Luna to get any stirring from the mountain of blankets and Hermione found great entertainment from watching.
Hermione never got to see Hannah finally wake up because by the time she had, Hermione had already slipped into sleep. Her breathy snores not failing to make her roommates giggle.
Empty darkness became dreams and dreams became nightmares. From her constant exposure to the horrors of war, Hermione quickly realised that the nightmares would now be as common as breathing. It only made sense that her dreams should reflect her every-day. However, that didn't stop her from uncontrollably shaking whilst her skin produced a thin layer of sweat that made her stick to her sheets.
Hours passed by.
Hermione's mind had created a myriad of tortures for her to experience during that time. Both physically and emotionally. Obliviating her parents was one, cradling Harry's wooden face was another. They just replayed themselves constantly along with a variety of others.
Tonight's being her unfortunate escapades in Malfoy Manor. Bellatrix's chilling and haunting voice echoed another 'Crucio' and Hermione was immersed with the memory of a cruel and punishing pain that had her convulsing irrepressibly. It was the mix of the hot searing agony from the Cruciatus curse mixed with the characteristic chill of Lucius Malfoy's home that still made the experience ever prominent in Hermione's mind. It was that harsh contrast she remembered most. The room was freezing, to the point where her body was involuntarily shivering, and goose bumps made themselves present on her pale skin. Yet at the same time the curse had caused her every inch to burn, every single cell of her body blistering. The memory of that pain caused her breathing to become erratic and all the blood to rush to her heart.
Expecting for Bellatrix's infamous cackle to erupt Hermione was shocked when all she could hear were faint whispers. She couldn't detect any words, just hushed tones. That didn't happen the first time. Her eyes flickered to her surroundings. It was the same foreboding room, high ceilings and overly dramatic gothic portraits. And within it was the same foreboding group of individuals. Each of their voices detached from their bodies. Hermione could see their snarling mouths moving, forming words but all she could hear was the growing whispers.
They echoed around her ears. Like the static of a radio. It made her wince and she screwed her eyes shut. The whispers grew louder and louder. Making both her ears and head pound in synchronicity.
Bang!
Hermione immediately broke free from sleep's hold and launched on to her feet whilst simultaneously slipping her wand from its secure place in her sleeve. Her breathing was erratic and uneven. Her heart beating inconsistently. She quickly glanced around her. Nothing had happened. Not a thing was out of place; the books still consumed one corner of the tent, Hannah's clothes were still strewn on her bed, the plates from yesterday's dinner were still cluttered on the dressing table. For a few heavenly seconds, everything was quiet. Until a voice broke through the blissful silence.
"For Merlin's sake! Put the damned thing back!" Arthur's usually cheerful voice roared.
"Not until we know what it is!" Ron argued back.
Groaning, Hermione flopped back on to her lumpy mattress, tugging her boots back on after slipping her wand away. With her heavy boots now weighing down on her feet she trudged out from her tent. Rosy streaks painting over the usual calm blue. The sun was coming up and with it came harsh light that assaulted Hermione's poor and tired eyes. She rubbed them absent-mindedly.
From the corner of her eye, she spotted the entire camp gathered by the edge of the clearing; excluding Molly. Their voices were loud but distorted and Hermione found herself involuntarily following the sound of their argument. Words finally becoming distinct.
"It could be dangerous, Ron! It could be dark magic!" Arthur Weasley thundered.
His son shook his mop of ginger hair. "Then we should find out how to destroy it! We can't just put it back!"
"What on Earth is going on?" Hermione asked Seamus as she came up beside him, noticing the object in Ron's hands was a book. A large heavy book with a peeling leather cover and well-loved pages which were bound by a comically large padlock and chains. She could make out letters on the cover, but its message was distorted because Ron couldn't keep his stupid arms still long enough for her to be able to read it.
"Ron found that when he was patrolling. He thinks it might be useful but his dad ain't that keen." Seamus whispered back, his not averting from the scene before him.
"Why don't you talk to him, Hermione?" Neville suggested softly from her other side.
"Which one?"
Neville laughed quietly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I honestly don't care anymore. Their arguing is keeping me up and I just want to sleep."
"Sorry, Neville." Hermione sighed as she rubbed his back sympathetically, making the corners of his mouth tilt upwards.
"Hermione! Thank Merlin, someone with sense." Arthur grumbled, the lines on his forehead deepening when he furrowed his brow. "Would you please tell my son; how idiotic he's being."
"Gladly." She breathed, striding up to Ron. "Ronald. You're being very idiotic."
"How would you know? You only just got here!"
"Seamus caught me up. Now get rid of that book." Words she never thought she'd hear herself say.
"For once," the redhead groaned "Couldn't you be on my side of the argument?"
"Let's be honest. The day that happens the devil will be ice skating to work." She deadpanned. Her brown eyes quickly and discreetly glancing down at the tome in her best friend's hands. "Although, I never thought I'd see the day where you'd be hellbent on a book. I'm somewhat proud."
Ignoring her comment, Ron continued to argue. "But look what it says. 'Only the worthy may read me.' What if we're worthy?"
"Don't be silly." She chided.
"I'm not. We could open it!"
Hermione felt her throat close as she read the scratched inscription for herself; it was if someone carved it in with a knife. Not an awfully good impression. "But we can't Ron. We're not… We're not Harry." She stressed, her voice croaking with emotion but her face was still and impassive like she trained it to be.
"You're not listening to me—"
"No. You're not listening. Merlin, this is third year all over again." She muttered the last bit mainly to herself, but Ron still heard.
"And there wasn't anything wrong with the Firebolt, was there?"
"But there could have been."
"But there wasn't."
"But there could have been."
"But there wasn't."
"But there could have been!" she shouted, her hands balling into fists. "Now put it back where you found it!"
"Don't treat me like a child!"
"Then stop acting like one!" she yelled, snatching the book from his grasp. "We're the last, Ron! Us lot; everyone here! And I will not risk the lives of the last few decent wizards and witches on the planet over a book I can't even read! Have some common sense…" Hermione's voice trailed away. As soon as the tips of her fingers met the cold leather, whispers filled her head. Quiet and subtle, they were barely there giving her the impression that it was nothing but a small annoying insect. But then they got progressively louder, just like they had before. Making her head and ears throb whilst she screwed her eyes shut, attempting to force out the aching pain.
"Hermione…" came Ron's voice, cautious and small. Like a tiny boat in an ocean of noise. She pried her eyes apart only to see his wide with panic and fear, staring at the book in her hands. As was everyone else; their faces drained of colour, eyes fearful and bulging. Unnerved by the expressions of her fellow Order members, Hermione compelled herself to look down.
A glowing indigo light seeped from between the pages, on to the chains and all over Hermione's jumper. She leapt back with a start and threw the book on the floor. The moment its spine grazed the grass, the padlock shattered into shards and the chain was propelled several feet away. The book fell open, its pages blank and on display. Some torturous seconds passed where Hermione found herself stumbling back in fear, dread coursing through her.
"…Was that it?" she heard Seamus ask.
A burst of black light erupted from the parchment and bled into the early morning sky. Ink spilled over any traces of blue cloaking the camp in a thick dark layer. The sound of it gushing and swirling made it feel like an ominous black sea was drowning them all. Hermione tried to run but found her legs useless without her vision. She tripped over her own heavy boots and fell to the ground, her cheek burning from the friction. She twisted her torso to sit up but stopped when she noticed something trying to peek out from behind the darkness.
Gold appeared from behind and seeped through the gloom. But only in some places of the sky. Three large metallic swirls materialised. It irradiated the camp, making the panicked and frightened faces of her friends visible. She followed their blank gazes. Hair whipping in her face, Hermione felt her jaw slacken as the shapes were joined together with three golden lines. The symbol of Merlin. Her heart thundered in her chest and blood gathered at the back of her throat.
The instant all the gold had morphed into one illuminous form, tendrils of shadows whipped and lashed from the sky. Hermione's heart lodged itself in her throat. Screams echoed from around the camp. The glow from the symbol that adorned the sky provided enough light for Hermione to leg it. She scrambled to her feet and sprinted to Ron who stood still with shock. Taking his large hand in hers she pulled him to the middle of the camp. With short and uneven breaths, she shook him by the shoulders. "Ron, you're going to have to Apparate. Ron!" she shook him harder. Startled, his face snapped to hers. "Ron, you need to Apparate."
"What about you?" he asked helplessly, gripping on to her hand like a vice.
"Someone has to help Arthur get Molly out of here. Now go!"
"No," he shook his head stubbornly, "I'm not leaving you."
"Ron, please!" Hermione begged, her hand coming up to gently stroke his face. "I already lost one friend; I can't lose two."
"Neither can I!"
A twisting black vine lashed down at them both. Hermione watched as it twisted upwards, getting ready to strike again. Unhesitatingly she shoved Ron away as it thrashed down once more. Bracing for a blow, Hermione eyes shot open with shock, at the feeling of something cold and icy wrapping around her waist. It violently tugged her back, causing her wand to slip out from her sleeve. "NO!" she cried, her arms straining to get hold of one of the only things that gave her comfort.
Ron had leapt to his feet and already was trying every spell to try to coax the shadow to loosen its grip. But to no prevail. Hermione was hauled up by her waist and sent flying into the sea of abyss above. Her stomach flipped as she watched a shaking Ron become smaller and smaller until the darkness consumed her vision. She felt herself flying higher and higher, her throat raw from screaming.
The grip on her waist relaxed and Hermione grabbed on to freezing black tendril with all her strength. Her captor's hold slipped away, and she cruelly transitioned from flying to falling. Wind rushing past her; manic hair being blown from her face; jumper billowing. Her stomach dropped and an unusual tickling feeling gathered in her hands and feet.
She just kept falling and falling. Until, without warning, she stopped.
