Some of the dialogue here has been borrowed from DH.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but this twisted so-called "plot".
.
If men define situations as real, they are real in their consequences.
Hermione was sure that all prophecies were, in effect, self-fulfilling. They didn't so much tell the future as much as influence it. They triggered events, planted ideas in people's minds, and hence, inevitably proved themselves to be true.
Take a pinch of arithmancy, a handful of vague symbolism, liberally douse them in concentrated theatrics... and there you have it: A recipe for a simple prophecy. Harry was the Chosen One because Voldemort had decided to believe Trelawney's prediction. And once he'd decided that, everything else fell in accordance.
There was a reason Time-Turners could only take you into the past – there was no possible way of establishing a concrete future. Hermione remembered reading an article in The Theoretical Review that had claimed that (with certain modifications,) a device could be conceived that constructed a future based on probability and the users own predilections. Yet, it categorically stated that it would be catastrophic to allow the creation of a timeline based on just one person's vision. (No, really?)
Now, if this... this practicality... made her limited, narrow, and close-minded, then so be it. Xenophilius Lovegood was welcome to go off on a glorious quest, riding on the back of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack, to pull the all-powerful elder wand out of a (resurrection, undoubtedly) stone, and gleefully lord over his court of blibblering whatsits.
"All right… Say the cloak existed. But what about the stone, Mr. Lovegood? The thing you call the Resurrection Stone?"
"What of it?"
"Well, how can that be real?"
"Prove that it is not."
"But that's – I'm sorry, but that's completely ridiculous! How can I possibly prove it doesn't exist? Do you expect me to get hold of – of all the pebbles in the world and test them? I mean, you could claim that anything's real if the only basis for believing in it is that nobody's proved it doesn't exist!"
"Yes, you could. I am glad to see that you are opening your mind a little."
A stone that brought back the dead: preposterous! A wand that could vanquish one and all: beyond fanciful. And if surviving was as simple as hiding under a powerful Invisibility Cloak, they already had everything they needed.
Inane, woolly, insufferable man... she completely understood why Theo regarded him with such scorn.
The biggest problem at the moment, however, was that Harry had bought into the legend of the Deathly Hallows completely. In fact, when he spoke of them, his face and tone had an unnervingly greedy quality about them; she knew it to be the inception of a whole new fixation for him.
He believed he owned the cloak, was convinced that the stone lay in his snitch, and so he hungered for the wand... the wand he believed You-Know-Who was currently seeking as well. Harry desired to be the master of death. Was there anything more frightening than that? Hadn't Voldemort's devastating pursuit of immortality taught him anything?
Bizarrely enough, it was Ron who brought a bit of equability to the table. With staggeringly uncharacteristic diplomacy, he agreed that Harry's theory sounded very plausible, but insisted that Hermione was right about needing to focus on the Horcruxes. This policy of appeasement did not appease Harry.
"But don't you understand?" he said urgently, passionately, "If we have the Hallows, nothing else will matter! We'll be invincible!"
"We still need to destroy the Horcruxes, Harry!" Hermione seethed, "You can't conveniently ignore them!"
"Um, I think she's right," Ron mumbled.
"God... look at the bigger picture! This obsession with Hor–"
"Obsession?" Hermione spat fiercely, "We're not the ones with an obsession! We're the ones trying to do what Dumbledore wanted us to do!"
"The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death," Harry recited superciliously.
"Oh, I thought it was You-Know-Who we were supposed to be fighting?"
He threw his hands up in the air and walked away.
Days bled into days at a furious pace, like time was a feather caught in a gale. But so many things remained constant, that even as weeks went by, it hadn't felt like they'd moved forward by even an hour.
Harry could not – would not – stop thinking about the Hallows. In fact, his preoccupation had taken an even more dangerous turn: He'd begun to deliberately try and infiltrate Voldemort's mind to figure out his whereabouts, and consequently discover the location of the Elder wand. Hermione had fought with him about that on three separate occasions. Not one of those occasions led to anything positive.
As a stark contrast, there was Ron. A new, improved version of Ron made of sunshine and optimism. Fired up by his triumph over Slytherin's locket, he spent most of his time pouring over his father's map, picking out places where he thought the remaining Horcruxes might be. On six separate occasions, the three of them ventured out to explore his supposition... Not one of those occasions led to anything fruitful.
And Hermione? She read. She read words that had meanings, which fell upon each other like dominoes across pages... meanings that she, perhaps, picked up on. A little.
They were, once more, stuck in a state of complete cluelessness. Well, I hope it's nice and toasty in hell, Professor Dumbledore.
"Ron... Ron!" Hermione hissed, "Get... down." She pulled him back into a crouch and glared. "Are you insane? Do you want them to catch us?"
"Bloody hell, calm down! I was just having a look..."
"And giving them a look in return?"
"They didn't fucking see me!" Ron retorted in a furious whisper, "I just –"
"Both of you shut up!" Harry growled lowly.
They were hunkered down behind an old, dilapidated cabinet inside the Riddle House. After an hour of futile Horcrux-hunting, they were just set to leave when a gang of Snatchers barged in and forced them to duck for cover.
There were five of them – grungy droogs in tattered black robes – and they were obviously more than a little intoxicated. Swaying and teetering, they banged about the room talking in loud voices. One of them was singing a song about a man who'd lost his lover to a Kelpie.
"Oh me bonnie floaterway wiff the ol 'orse..."
"Fuckin' runt took a chunk off me leg! Blimey! It 'urts!" said one with a grimy rag tied around his calf.
"...me pretty lamb ter the bottom o the sea..."
"Oh button it. We'll 'ave yer ter a 'ealer tomorrow," replied another tall one with Jim Morrison hair, "Need ter sleep now. There's beds upstairs, yeah then, eh, guv?"
"...He took 'er away, the demon 'orse..."
The largest, leader-type Snatcher slurred, "Aye, there's beds. Let's go. Cop off yer arse, right Sammy. We need ter be back in business early t'morrow! Struth!"
"...'er entrails be flotsam, ridin' em waves fer'all eternityyyy..."
Hermione, Harry, and Ron waited while the Snatchers ascended, (there were many thuds and ooofs involved,) and then shot out of the house the second all was quiet.
She had the History of Magic open on her lap, and she was looking for any and every mention of the Elder wand, the Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny, etc. Her own wand was clamped between her teeth as she attempted to gather her hair into a bun.
She jumped up in the air – wand, book fell to the ground – when, most unexpectedly and horrifyingly, she felt... something... tickle the back of her neck. She spun around and saw Ron, holding a thin strand of her hair between two of his fingers.
"Er, sorry," he muttered shyly, "You left this out..."
He walked closer, (far too close,) and wound that strand around her bun, while she stared dumbly at the buttons on his shirt.
"There," he whispered thickly, "Perfect."
Hermione backed away rapidly, barely rushing out a "thanks," before jogging out of the tent. She felt irritated and uncomfortable and...
...Outside, Harry was muttering and twitching while sat on a tree stump with his eyes closed...
...and tired. She felt so very tired.
Tired, tired with nothing, tired with everything, tired with the world's weight she had never chosen to bear.
In Wimbourne they had another run in with some Snatchers.
The only reason they were there was because Ron felt that Voldemort might've wanted to live there, I mean, you never know! A foolish proposition, but it was all they had.
Harry, fortunately, was under his invisibility cloak while Hermione and Ron stood back to back with seven wands trained on them. It happened in a flash: One moment the Snatchers were leering down at her, and in the next, they were flat on their backs, unconscious.
Harry gripped her shoulders hard when they'd apparated away to a distant, rainy marsh.
"The blackthorn didn't work Hermione! I tried and... Shit... but I got them all! I stunned them all wandlessly! I got them all!"
With a slightly hysterical laugh, Hermione hugged him tightly.
The rain was unrelenting. The sound of water-pellets falling on the roof of their tent was the sound of hundreds of machine guns on a rampage. Said roof kept springing leaks, so the three restless inhabitants kept having to run around casting reparos.
Hermione was meticulously polishing Gryffindor's sword until the blade shone like a mirror. Something burned in her pocket, and instantly her fingers sought the DA Galleon within.
'HALLOW, my dear buddy,' it read.
Rolling her eyes, Hermione replied, 'Sod off.'
'Don't be unpleasant.' –– 'Why don't you visit again?' –– 'Ask Xeno where the legendary Hopping Pot's at'
'SOD. OFF.'
'No. –– 'All well?'
Her wand hovered over the coin for a moment... um... 'Well enough?' –– 'What's happening at your end?'
'Draco's here.' –– 'Tonks is chasing him round the kitchen.'
'Why?'
'Wants him to feel his unborn cousin's kicking prowess'
Of course Hermione pictured it. Harry and Ron stared at her like she was insane when she began giggling to herself.
With nothing better to do, they were moving on a daily basis. Sometimes just a few miles away, and sometimes to the other side of the country. The process of packing up and setting up their camp was ingrained in Hermione's muscle memory.
...I've got some real estate here in my bag...
In Chiddingfold Forest, Lee Jordan's voice rolled out of Ron's wireless:
"It is with great regret that we inform our listeners of the murders of Ted Tonks and Dirk Cresswell. A goblin by the name of Gornuk was also killed. It is believed that muggleborn Dean Thomas and a second goblin, both believed to have been travelling with Tonks, Cresswell, and Gornuk, may have escaped. If Dean is listening, or if anyone has any knowledge of his whereabouts, his parents and sisters are desperate for news. Meanwhile, in Gaddley, a muggle family of five has been found dead in their home..."
Why had they told Tonks that her father was well? Why had they made her happy and gotten her hopes up? What business did they have saying it when they'd only briefly heard the man's voice months ago? Hermione felt like she might be sick.
And Dean... oh god. He had to be alive. She couldn't even think of the alternative.
There was Kingsley: "Muggles remain ignorant of the source of their suffering as they continue to sustain heavy casualties..."
A bittersweet stab of relief; mum and dad were far, far away from all this.
Finally, Fred: "...Point is, people, don't get lulled into a false sense of security, thinking he's out of the country. Maybe he is, maybe he isn't, but the fact remains he can move faster than Severus Snape confronted with shampoo when he wants to, so don't count on him being a long way away if you're planning to take any risks. I never thought I'd hear myself say it, but safety first!"
And then they were laughing.
"Good, eh?" Ron chortled.
"Brilliant!" Harry exclaimed.
Hermione sighed, "It's so brave of them... If they were found..."
"Well," said Ron, "they keep on the move, don't they? Like us."
Harry rubbed his hands together eagerly. "But did you hear what Fred said? He's abroad! He's still looking for the Wand, I knew it!"
"Harry –"
"Come on, Hermione, why are you so determined not to admit it? Vol–"
"HARRY, NO!"
"–demort's after the Elder Wand!"
Ron was on his feet, screaming, "THE NAME'S TABOO! I told you, Harry! I told you we can't say it anymore – we've got to put the protection back around us –quickly – it's how they find –"
But before Harry or Hermione could as much as move, there came a thunderous Crack! from outside the tent.
"Come out of there with your hands up! We know you're in there! You've got half a dozen wands pointing at you and we don't care who we curse!"
"Fuck!" Ron growled through gritted teeth.
There was a rustling outside... someone was tearing through the tent flap... Hermione's heart had stopped beating. With barely a thought, she turned her wand onto Harry; "Aculeatum!" He doubled over, and his face was rapidly swelling up right before her eyes...
They were in the tent now, Snatchers, three in number and, shit, oh fuck, one of them was Fenrir Greyback. His eyes lit up when he saw her, and his sick tongue flicked out and dragged over his upper lip.
"Well well," he rasped, and grabbed her by the arm. She resisted – clawed at his hands, put all her weight behind pulling away – but to no avail.
Their wands were apprehended, and they were all dragged outside, where two more Snatchers stood waiting.
"That's it then, eh, mate? Three kids? Pathetic 'aul this evenin'," said one.
("Gerrof me, gerrof me, GERROF ME," screamed Ron.)
"Oh I don't know. That girl's a ravver not so bad 'un..."
"Back off, Scabior," Greyback barked. He pulled Hermione closer and traced his nose down her cheek, "This one's mine. Delicious girl... what a treat... I do enjoy the softness of the skin..."
She whimpered; her stomach turned. It was truly terrible how primal fear was one of the few things that her system just didn't seem to get desensitised to.
"Get – Off – Her!" Ron bellowed, and immediately received a blow to the face.
"No!" Hermione moaned.
"Search the tent," Scabior ordered.
xxx
Their false identities seemed to have convinced the band of Scary Men, and Hermione, Harry, and Ron were bound and thrown onto the forest floor with their backs to two other captives.
"Anyone still got a wand?" Harry whispered.
"No." Hermione and Ron replied.
"This is all my fault," Harry lamented, "I said the name. I'm sorry –"
"Harry?" the person behind her gasped, and she desperately tried to twist and get a look, because his voice... his voice...
"Dean?" Harry spluttered.
"It is you! Well, shit! If they find out who they've got –! They're only looking for truants to sell for gold but –"
Dean stopped speaking as Greyback and two other Snatchers came closer.
"Well, Ugly," he spat at Harry, "If you're telling the truth, you've got nothing to fear from a trip to the Ministry. I expect your father, Mister Dudley, will reward us just for picking you up."
"Hey!" someone shouted from just outside their tent, "Look at this!"
A Snatcher built like a bulldozer barrelled over, cradling Gryffindor's sword. Well... they were truly done for now. Truly truly truly done. Hermione couldn't breathe –
"Ve–e–ery nice," Greyback purred, examining the sword, "Oh, very nice indeed. Looks goblin-made, that. Where did you get something like this?"
"It's my father's," Harry said too quickly, "We borrowed it to cut firewood–"
"' ang on a chuffin' minute, Greyback! Look at this, in the Prophet!" Scabior cried, tearing out of the tent, "'ermione Granger, the Mudblood who is known to be travelling with 'arry Potter."'
Hermione Granger's muddy eyes closed in horror. Done for. Done. Fucking. For.
Greyback squatted in front of her, peering at her face. "You know what, little girly," he crooned, "This picture looks a hell of a lot like you."
"It isn't!" she yelped, "It isn't me!"
"...known to be travelling with Harry Potter." Greyback looked at the three of them in awful silence for a long moment, (Oh, they were done for.) "Well, this changes things, doesn't it?" He shifted so that he was crouched in front of Harry, and asked in a dangerously mellow voice, "What's that on your forehead, Vernon?"
He lifted a finger and touched –
"Don't touch it!" Harry roared.
"I thought you wore glasses, Potter?"
"I found glasses! There was glasses in the tent, Greyback, wait—" Bulldozer-Snatcher disappeared back inside, and then returned, brandishing Harry's glasses.
The glasses where then rammed onto Harry's face.
Greyback hummed in delight; "It is! We've caught Potter!"
They were so, so done for.
It was terribly dark and Hermione could hear music. Not some vaguely cadenced buzzing in her ears, no; there was a full-fledged orchestra in her head. Every note, every treble and sharp was so clear...
The doomed progression down the driveway was set to the tune of Berlioz's March to The Scaffold.
It was most likely a quiet night. Most likely, the sound of footsteps and the mewls of startled peacocks was the only noise for miles. But the music in Hermione's head was at its crescendo. Loud and wild! Symbols and trumpets! She wanted to pretend her wand was a baton, and she was a wild-haired conductor. Fuck being a good man in a storm – she was a woman on the edge of an ataque de nervios.
Greyback's filthy talons had broken through the skin on her arm.
Malfoy Manor erupted suddenly from between decorative foliage. It was indubitably a beautiful building – Jacobean architecture, diamond-paned windows, tiny peaked turrets – but in Hermione's head, the symphony morphed into the Addam's Family theme. Fittingly, the large front doors opened with a dramatic creak. Hermione almost hoped that Narcissa Malfoy would snap her fingers.
Instead she demanded, "What is this?"
"We're here to see He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!" Greyback announced.
"Who are you?" Mrs. Malfoy sneered coldly.
"You know me," the feral werewolf rumbled, "Fenrir Greyback! We've caught Harry Potter!"
Harry was shoved into the light spilling out from inside the Manor.
"I know 'es swollen, ma'am, but it's 'im!" said Scabior. "If you look a bit closer, you'll see 'is scar. And this 'ere, see the girl? The Mudblood who's been travelling around with 'im, ma'am. There's no doubt it's 'im, and we've got 'is wand as well! 'Ere, ma'am –"
Tinkling chimes and little claps.
Narcissa Malfoy lowered her head to examine Harry. "Bring them in," she said.
They were shoved into a long hallway where twin rows of Malfoy ancestors bared their teeth at them.
Everyday it's a-getting closer,
Going faster than a rollercoaster
The drawing room was resplendent. A crystal chandelier bathed the vast, vault-like space in golden light. The walls were dark purple and full of gilded mirrors.
Hermione was tossed from Greyback to Scabior. Her head was forced downwards, (a gorgeous Afghani carpet covered the floor,) and Scabior gripped her tightly around the ribs, his fingers pressed against the underside of her breasts.
"What is this?" Lucius Malfoy's icy, imperious voice called out.
"They say they've got Potter," his wife replied, "Draco, come here."
Come on baby, don't fear the reaper
Baby take my hand, don't fear the reaper
We'll be able to fly, don't fear the reaper
Baby I'm your man
La, la, la –
Hermione's head was jerked back with a forceful tug of her hair, and there before her, pale faced and panic-stricken, was Draco Malfoy.
She'd never been this close to him before.
"Yes – yes," Mrs. Malfoy was saying, "She was in Madam Malkin's with Potter! I saw her picture in the Prophet! Look, Draco, isn't it the Granger girl?"
Draco looked at the Granger girl, and the Granger girl looked at Draco. Come on she pleaded, Please, please, please.
Could he hear her? His eyes widened, just a touch... oh but they were grey... And unbidden, the sound of Chopin (as played by Malfoy,) filled her head.
Please.
Chopin, crashing into ...don't fear the reaper, cut through with static... oh god. She wanted to slap her hands against her ears.
Malfoy's grey eyes... searching...
She let out a whisper of a sob, and he turned his face away. The golden light in the room fell on his profile, throwing the distressed twist of his mouth into prominence.
"I ...maybe ...yeah."
"But then, that's the Weasley boy!" the elder Malfoy shouted, pulling Ron by the scruff of his neck, "It's them, Potter's friends – Draco, look at him, isn't it Arthur Weasley's son… what's his name–?"
"Yeah. It could be."
Then Draco Malfoy turned his back to them.
Suddenly, the drawing room door flew open, and a new face pushed itself in front of Hermione's. Bellatrix Lestrange's heavy-lidded eyes considered her penetratingly, until a glimmer appeared in their inky depths.
"But surely," she murmured, "this is the Mudblood girl? This is Granger?"
"Yes, yes, it's Granger! And beside her, we think, Potter!" Lucius Malfoy exclaimed, "Potter and his friends, caught at last!"
"Potter?! Are you sure? Well then, the Dark Lord must be informed at once!"
A kerfuffle broke out regarding who exactly would get the honour of summoning The Dark Lord. Hermione panted, waiting, because it won't be long, yeah, yeah, yeah, but while they bickered and nattered, they were all still alive…
And that's when Bellatrix spotted Gryffindor's sword in the bulldozer-Snatcher's grubby hands.
Pain.
Had she ever really known pain? Pain; pain that drives you insane, pain like the rain –
I want to know, have you ever seen the rain?
"CRUCIO!"
Pain. Daggers are mundane, broken limbs - don't complain.
Oh what are those? Not painful – not at all.
"WHERE DID YOU GET THIS SWORD? WHERE?"
"We found it—we found it—PLEASE!"
"CRUCIO!"
Pain. It was inside her, it was a part of her, it was her.
Thine are the lidless eyes of night that stare upon our tears; mum and dad, glassy-eyed and blanched, washed upon some nameless shore... Theo, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Luna, Neville...
"YOU'RE LYING, FILTHY MUDBLOOD, AND I KNOW IT! YOU HAVE BEEN INSIDE MY VAULT AT GRINGOTTS! TELL THE TRUTH, TELL THE TRUTH! CRUCIO!"
…hanging limply like strange fruit on a barren tree.
Pain. Oh god, the pain. Make it stop. Let me go. PLEASE let me go –
Bismillah, NO… we will not let you go!
Let me go.
"WHAT ELSE DID YOU TAKE? WHAT ELSE HAVE YOU GOT? TEL ME THE TRUTH OR, I SWEAR, I SHALL RUN YOU THROUGH WITH THIS KNIFE! CRUCIO! CRUCIO!"
Pain like rain, pain like fire, pain like every unfulfilled desire; pain like Dix's Verwundeter; pain like rain, pain like acid, pain that's absolute and tacit; pain like pain like pai–
"HOW DID YOU GET INTO MY VAULT? DID THAT DIRTY LITTLE GOBLIN IN THE CELLAR HELP YOU?"
"We only met him tonight! We've never been inside your vault... It isn't the real sword! It's a copy, just a copy!"
"CRUCIO!"
Electric pain, eclectic pain. Arising pain, surprising pain, utterly paralyzing pain...
And
Then
It
Stopped
"Draco, fetch the goblin! He can tell us whether the sword is real or not!"
And
Everything
Was
Black
From the blackness emerged a thread.
Fine and delicate like spider silk, it drifted towards her... but what was she? One with the shadows, one with the blackness... she was nothing.
Her disembodied, nebulous sense of self watched the thin strand undulate.
But wait – she had a form. She had a head, and on it was hair, because she was dead certain that something was stroking it. A large hand – a familiar, warm, soothing hand...
Dad? Dad?
"Dah –!"
She blinked up at the face looming above hers; it wasn't her father's, but one that was nearly as comforting.
Theo's eyes were tired and foggy, his nose was red, his hair was a wreck, but his lips pulled into a soft, tremulous smile.
"Hello, darling," he rasped.
"Wha – Wha –" Hermione breathed.
"Shhh," he whispered, "You're safe. It's alright."
Safe? What? She frowned... but then she remembered. Malfoy Manor – Bellatrix – Fuck. Theo, however, anticipated her move, and pressed her back into bed the moment she tried to jump out of it.
"Hermione! Calm down!"
"No! No – I – Harry! Ron! ...Dean!"
"They're FINE," Theo asserted, "They're all fine. Please, Hermione. Listen to me. You got away. You all got away!"
"We... got... away," she gasped, "How?"
"I'll tell you in a bit. First... I need to get Fleur. I'm under orders, see?"
"Wait... Fleur?"
"Yeah, this is her and Bill's place. Now stay right here, okay?"
She looked about her in the interim. It was a pretty little room she was in, the walls were unfinished and roughly whitewashed with tiny white shells embedded in the dados, turquoise curtains hung in front of the windows, and a large vase full of yellow gerberas sat on the teak dresser.
She was safe.
Fleur bustled in with a tray laden with phials, with Theo following close behind. She looked like she'd been sleeping, yet still, in her silk dressing gown, she was radiant.
"'Ermione," she said kindly, "'ow are you?"
"I'm... fine?"
"Zat cannot be true," Fleur sniffed.
"No, really... I... I'm not in pain," she said with wonder, "I'm not in pain."
Fleur pursed her lips. "'Ave zis. Eet will make sure ze pain stays away –" She handed Hermione some pale blue potion, "– and zis –" A colourless pungent potion, "– and zis –" A bright orange potion. The last one tasted like sweet orange syrup.
"Where is everyone?" Hermione asked.
"Azleep," answered Fleur, "Eet's four in ze morning."
"What!" Hermione sputtered, "You mean I've been out for –"
"Eight hours, oui."
"Holy shit."
Both Fleur and Theo smirked at that.
"You're telling me?" Theo demanded, "You've been comatose. I'm the one who's been sitting at your bedside... Eight hours of looking dour... it's probably given me wrinkles."
"I 'ave a potion for zat, too."
"Oh, you're a goddess, Fleur. Truly, a divine being, a spectacular woman –"
"Stop eet, silly boy," she laughed pertly, "'Ermione, you will need three more doses... I will see you in a few hours."
"Thank you so much, Fleur. Goodnight."
"Yeah, sweet dreams, Fle–"
Theo's ardent wishes died out as Fleur had already left the room. Aiming an exasperated smile at him, Hermione said, "Et tu?"
"What?"
"Just like every other male, you turn into an idiot around her."
He reared back resentfully. "Um, no. Actually, as you very well know, I'm always an idiot."
"Oh right," she conceded laughingly.
His look of good humour abruptly changed to one of anguish.
"Oh Hermione," he bemoaned, "How could you get caught? Fucking hell."
She lowered her eyes and stared at the pale blue duvet covering her legs. "It was an accident. Ha – someone said You-Know-Who's name, and –"
"Come off it," he spat, "Someone. I know it was Potter. He admitted it."
"It was an accident!"
"Obviously it was an accident. I know he bloody well wouldn't call on the Snatchers because he fancied some company. I'm just saying he's too boneheaded to think before he fucking speaks!"
"What happened, Theo?" she mumbled thickly, "How did we escape?"
He sighed. "Well, the moment you arrived at Malfoy Manor, the Order's contingency plan kicked into action –"
"Contingency plan?" Hermione parroted, puzzled.
"Well, yes!" Theo exclaimed incredulously, "The three of you really do live in your own little bubble, don't you? Did you honestly think the Order wouldn't have something planned for if... when... you heroes got yourself caught?!"
"Oh," she whispered weakly.
His hardened expression melted a bit as he sat down on the chair beside her bed. Taking her hand in his, he continued, "Draco informed Lupin as soon as he could – yes, Draco. How can you still look surprised?!"
"I thought... At the Manor... He sold us out..."
"For Merlin's sake, what else could he have done? He would've hardly been able to do any good if he'd blown his cover! So, the moment he could get away, he informed Lupin, who in turn rallied the rest of us, and –"
"You as well?"
"Of course!" he said indignantly.
"Who else – "
"Luna, Shacklebolt, some Weasleys, Jones, Diggle... We called Dobby to get us through the Malfoy wards –"
"Wait! Dobby the House-Elf?"
"Exactly how many Dobby's do you know?" he huffed, "Yeah, Dobby the House-Elf. Anyway, when we got to the Manor... you were already unconscious... Draco had just let Potter, Weasley, and Thomas out of the cellar...
"Then, well, we charged. There was a big, old melée, while Dobby brought people back here in turns. We had them outnumbered... But fucking Bellatrix called You-Know-Who. We were out of time. Panicked. And then, Dobby saved us. He was... unbelievable. He dropped a blooming chandelier on Bellatrix. He disarmed – he actually disarmed – Narcissa. He brought us here, I think, seconds before You-Know-Who reached the Manor."
Hermione was reeling. She swallowed a few times, before shakily whispering, "Wow."
"Yeah," Theo said, but uncomfortably... there was still something he hadn't told her.
"What?" she asked at once.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. "Dobby... didn't make it."
No. No. "NO," she groaned.
He shook his head; "Bellatrix chucked her knife at him just as he was disapparating. It... met its mark."
"Oh god," she moaned, tears pooling in her eyes, "How – Harry –?"
"Not good. Kept trying to shake him awake..." he sighed, "We spent nearly the entire night digging his grave manually. Luna made a speech... Potter thought he'd have liked that."
"Yes," she sobbed, "He would've."
"I'll take you to see it... later..."
"Yes, please."
"...but you need to sleep now. Hell, I need to sleep." He stood up, and then bent to lightly kiss her forehead.
"Theo," she murmured, "Thank you."
He laid his palm against her cheek, and said, "Thank you for not dying."
When she awoke, daylight was filtering through the curtains, and it had turned the whole room greenish-blue. She got uncertainly onto her feet, her legs wobbled and she had to grasp the bedside table to keep from falling. Slowly, she inched towards the window and looked outside. Bill and Fleur's house was perched on the edge of a cliff, surrounded by stalks of lavender. The sky was pale blue, and beneath it was the sea, frothing and churning.
After a quick shower, she felt rejuvenated and much more stable. Stark naked, she peered closely at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. There was a scrape on her knee, nail marks on her arm, and multiple shallow cuts on her neck. She wanted to erase them completely; she wanted no residues of that awful night to claim any part of her body... that's when she realised her wand had been taken away by Greyback.
It was true what they said – the feeling of losing one's wand is akin to losing a limb.
It took her twice as long as usual to climb down stairs. She stood for a moment in the airy hallway, listening to the sound of the crashing waves. The muted drone of conversation emitted from a room to her left, so that's where she went.
It was a fairly small kitchen, with a fairly small table that was crowded with people pouring over breakfast. There were Harry and Ron, Theo and Luna, Bill and Fleur, Dean and... Ollivander? Perplexed Hermione knocked on the doorjamb to get their attention.
Harry got to her first and wrapped her up in his arms. "How are you?" he said, "You were amazing – coming up with that story when she was hurting you like that –"
"I'm okay," she replied softy, and then Ron took hold of her. He didn't say anything, but held her long and tightly and when he lightly brushed his lips against her cheek she pulled away quickly.
She squeezed into a tiny open space between Dean and Luna, both of whom patted her back and smiled.
"It's good to see you, Dean," she said, helping herself to some hot scrambled eggs.
"Yeah," he grinned, scratching the back of his neck, (his arm, she noticed, was heavily bandaged,) "Not exactly how I'd prefer to be reunited with my friends, though."
Hermione laughed, "What, trauma and torture aren't your idea of fun?"
"Nah. I say we grab a pint or something next time."
"Sure."
"I should warn you, Thomas," Theo threw in, "Drunk Hermione will prove to be only a little less traumatising –"
"Shut up, Theo."
"And drunk Hermione and Potter – ooooh la. You might not survive it –"
"Shut up, Nott."
"'ERMIONE," Fleur yelled over Dean, Theo, Bill, and Luna's laughter, "'urry up and eat please. Eet's time for your potions."
But suddenly, the loud sound of someone apparating came from outside. Instantly, they were all alert and on their feet, (with the exception of Ollivander, who made even blinking look tiring,) and jumbled out of the room to the main door. Hermione missed her wand desperately.
"Who is it?" Bill called, pressing his ear against the wood. No reply. "Who is it?" he tried again.
Nothing.
Tentatively, he peeled back the door, wand gripped tightly in his hand...
He gasped. Then he charged outside.
The rest of them all crowded around the open door. Hermione grabbed onto Harry's upper arms for leverage and peered over his shoulder. She saw a cloaked figure lying limply on the ground just beyond the large veranda. Bill scooped the wilted, unconscious stranger up, and pulled one of their arms over his shoulder; their head lolled forward limply.
"Who is that?" Ron shouted, but Bill didn't seem to hear.
Hermione was unexpectedly jostled into Harry's back as Theo tore through the lot of them, looking very white in the face. He took the stranger's other arm and braced one of his own around their waist...
The stranger's hood fell back.
Draco Malfoy had arrived at Shell Cottage.
A/N: Sorry.
If you need a palate cleanser, I recently wrote a very silly, very fluffy drabble called Fly Me To The Moon.