Empire
.:OOO:.
Author's Notes: Hello, my lovelies! I want to thank you all for commenting and following this story! I love reading about your opinions and theories! I meant to post this chapter earlier, but I had a laptop scare and I thought my Macbook broke! And let me tell you, I nearly lost my shit! Good thing the battery just emptied itself. Apparently the new OS causes the battery to drain faster. Anyone having the same problem?
Anywhoo! I hope you enjoy this chapter! Please bear in mind that this fic isn't beta-ed, so typos are likely to abound. As always, please let me know what you think!
.:OOO:.
BOOK ONE
.:OOO:.
Chapter Seven
When Hermione came to, the world was blurry. She was lying on her side, confused and disoriented. She shook her head and groaned.
What happened? She tried to lift a hand up to relieve some of the discomfort she felt in her neck and shoulders but found that she couldn't. Her arm – both her arms – remained stuck to her side. Her eyes shot open in alarm, her eyebrows flying up in bewilderment at the sight of both her limbs bound to her body with a rope. Panic and fear pumped through her veins at the realisation that she'd been tied up.
No, no, no! What is happening? She struggled against the binds, writhing on what she recognised were dirty wooden floorboards.
"Hermione!" a voice called out of the gloom of her fear-clouded mind.
Hermione stilled. Unable to look over her shoulder, she cautiously rolled over onto her back and a small wave of relief washed over her when she spied a familiar face in the dim light just a few metres away. "Dorcas!"
"You're awake! Thank Merlin!" Dorcas exclaimed with a relieved smile. "Are you all right?"
Hermione nodded and gracelessly lifted herself up to sit on her knees. "What's going on? Where are we?"
"I'm sorry." Dorcas's smiled dropped. Her head hung dejectedly, her voice flat and bleak and her dark brown eyes dispirited, so unlike the woman she had seen fighting off the Snatchers. "They caught us."
The Snatchers.
Hermione's mind stuttered to a halt and her stomach dropped. Then the memory of a large man lying on the hard, unforgiving forest floor, slumped against a tree, cold and lifeless, slammed into her.
Mr Kelly.
The world suddenly felt like it was falling away, the edges of her vision darkening. Oh, Mr Kelly.
"He's dead," Hermione murmured faintly, as though saying the words would make it more real. "Mr Kelly's dead."
Dorcas said nothing, the corners of her mouth tightening. "Benjy too."
Hermione gasped, horror and grief washing over her like a tidal wave. Hot tears began to fall from her eyes. Her chest hurt and her lungs constricted, making it hard for her to breath. For a long, despairing while, Hermione sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. She had never felt such sorrow before, so heavy, frightening, and painful.
Dorcas shuffled closer awkwardly, leaning her body close to Hermione's as best she could with her own hands bound tight against her body, her hair matted, wild, and stuck out every which way. Dorcas looked like she'd been dragged through the woods. Hermione had no doubt they'd both been, quite literally.
When all her heartbreak was wept away, Hermione's sniffles subsided into silence, leaving only a heaviness in her heart that made her feel numb. In the ringing echoes of her despair, the only thing she could hear was the monotonous rattling of wheels on an uneven path.
Hermione started at the thought. She'd been so lost in her fear and panic that she hadn't noticed where she was at all. Sniffing loudly and wincing in disgust at how sticky her face felt, wishing her hands were free so she could wipe her tears and runny nose clean, she looked around for the first time. They were in what looked like a small, square room with nothing but small windows on either side that let a small sliver of moonlight in and a door at the other end.
'A wagon', she decided.
A quick cursory glance around her told Hermione there were no other occupants. A horrible thought occurred to her, one she knew she didn't want to say out loud but she did anyway.
"Where are they taking us?"
Dorcas's lips pursed into a straight grim line. "Probably to their camp."
Hermione subsided into silence, her breaths coming in heavy, panicked puffs, the terrifying reality of what she'd been taught about the world Beyond the Dell flashing through her mind like a looming nightmare. The fear that had thrummed dully in her gut intensified, solidifying into a boulder. The monsters she'd been taught to fear had caught her and they were going to do the most horrible things to her.
'No, no, this isn't happening!'
Hermione struggled against her bonds, straining and buckling to no avail against her restraints. One horrible thought tumbled over another, melding and mounting on top of each other in a dark mass of panic and confusion. There was no other thought in her head that she could make sense of except for the overpowering need to flee.
She had to get out of here!
"Hermione! Hermione!"
Through the haze, she could hear someone calling her name, distant and faint, but none of it mattered. Something horrible was going to happen she didn't get away.
"We have to get out of here! We have to get out! We have—"
"Hermione! Calm down!"
They were words that fell on deaf ears, of course. Hermione continued to break free of her bonds until her arms and torso ached.
And then the wagon clattered to a halt.
Hermione and Dorcas stilled as the sounds of activity and several voices drifted into their little prison. Hermione shifted to lean against one side of the wall beside Dorcas, her heart thundering in her ears.
They were here.
"Don't say a word," Dorcas hissed with a flash of warning in her eyes.
A second later, the wooden door to their carriage swung open, a rectangle of orange light slicing through the gloom, and then a wave of noisy activity thundered in from outside.
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut at the sudden brightness.
"Is that all of them?" A gruff voice rang out. "Just two of them?"
"Aye, sir," another answered, voice almost sounding sheepish. "We lost two others in the scuffle. Capt'n Greyback–"
"You're with Greyback?" the first voice interrupted with a sigh. " Of course, this would be Greyback's loot. That damned werewolf has no ounce of control in his body."
Cracking her eyes open and squinting against the glare of light, Hermione spied the silhouettes of two men by the open wagon door. One man was short and round, the other taller and lankier with long, thin limbs. She couldn't make out their features through the bright glare but from their conversation, she didn't think she would like them either way.
"Well? Where the bloody hell is Greyback now?"
"A-actually, 'e's been portkeyed to St Mungo's, sir."
The shorter of the two reared back, head snapping up at the other man in surprise. "Greyback? In St Mungo's, eh?"
The taller one wrung his hands together, his face still cast in shadow. "Aye, sir. 'E'd been shot, 'e was. With a muggle bullet."
The shorter man guffawed so loudly, so derisively, his laughter seemed to echo inside the gloom of the wagon.
Fear clawed at Hermione's gut at the nasty sound.
"Serves that mutt right!" He slapped his thigh as he bent over in his mirth. "Done in by a muggle! What I'd give to have been there to see it!"
Hermione glanced nervously over at Dorcas, who caught her eye and shook her head, lips pressed in a grim line.
When the laughter subsided, the man sobering up, he turned to the wagon and climbed in. The wagon rocked at his entry, his rotund form hunching over. Hermione's heart leaped to her throat, eyes widening in fear. She shrunk back instinctively, pressing against the wall as flat as she could, wishing she could disappear. Dorcas, for her part, bravely shifted herself over in front of Hermione, placing herself between her and the Snatcher.
Closer now, Hermione could finally make out the man's features, could finally look at the nasty grin that split across the Snatcher's round face.
"Hullo, ladies," he said as he knelt on one knee in front of them, a malicious look in his dark, beady eyes. "Name's Jugson, Lead Snatcher, at your service. I hope your…trip was comfortable." When no spoke came, Jugson tipped his head to the side and took a cursory glance at Hermione, before he brought his gaze back to Dorcas. "Was it you who'd gone and shot Greyback?"
Dorcas didn't answer, though it seemed like she needed to. The other man answered for her. "She's a witch, sir," he said from where he'd remained outside by the door.
"Is she now?" Jugson's grin seemed to turn malevolent in the shadows. "Well, she'll fit right in with us magicfolk, won't she?"
"Never, you imperial dog!" Dorcas spat venomously, practically lunging at him in her rage, despite her bound state.
Jugson guffawed mockingly, leering. "Oh, you caught a fiesty one! The officers at the Institution will like you." He reached out and gripped Dorcas none-too-gently by the jaw, leaving her snarling helplessly in his grasp. "They always love breaking the spirited ones." Jugson's derisive gaze alighted on Hermione. "And the girl?"
"Far as we could tell, she's a witch, sir," answered the other man. "They were handin' her off to the Magicals."
"Good."
Suddenly, Jugson reached over and grabbed Hermione by the front of her collar. She gasped in fright, and in a whoosh of cold air, he brought her forward and threw her back across the wagon, her knees scrapping painfully across the wooden floorboards. She landed with a loud thud. Hermione yelped as pain bloomed bright from her shoulder.
"No! Let her go!" Dorcas screamed as she struggled free from Jugson's grasp. "Hermione!"
"Take her to the others!" Jugson ordered.
Before Hermione could even catch her breath, a pair of hands was on her, roughly hauling her out of the wagon, dragging her out and onto the ground.
"And you, girly, will stay right here," Jugson cackled.
"No! You bastard!" Dorcas called out. "Hermione!"
Roused from her disorientation, Hermione buckled and twisted against the hands restraining her, trying to wrest herself free from the man pulling her away from the wagon. Instinct and fear fuelled her resistance. Nothing else was on her mind apart from getting free of the threat that had their claws on her.
"No! Let me go! No! No!" she shrieked, melding with the echos of Dorcas' own fading cries, as she dug her heels in. "Dorcas! Dorcas!"
But no ten-year-old was stronger than a full grown adult. Her struggles were futile. The world spun and blurred around her as the Snatcher half-pulled, half-dragged her across the ground, her feet digging futilely into the dirt.
"Let go of me! Let go!"
Stress and adrenaline pumped through her veins, and her magic rose up in answer to her intense emotions, the familiar electric buzz crackling underneath her skin.
'Let go, let go, letgoletgoletgo–'
Her magic swelled.
'LET. GO.'
And then it sputtered – gone.
Hermione blinked, shocked. The feeling of unfulfillment left her confused and reeling. Did her magic just —
In her distraction, her captor took the opportunity to haul her up and shove her hard into what looked like another wheeled vehicle. She fell face-first onto the planks hard, her cheek and knees scraping against the rough surface. She grunted in pain at the impact. She tried to sit up despite the ache in her shoulders, arms, and knees.
"Emancipare!" A flash of light lit up the dark space.
Hermione flinched reflexively, afraid of what heinous magic was cast. But then she felt the tight grip of the ropes around her slacken. She took a deep breath, her relief reminding her to breathe. Cautiously, she lifted herself up with her freed arms and looked down at the thick cords falling away from her with furrowed brows.
A moment later, the sharp, whining groan of metal echoed around her.
Hermione whipped around just in time to see the man slam the door shut with a definitive clang.
"No!" she cried out, and in a sudden burst of desperate strength, lunged towards the door, despite the raw ache in her skinned knees. She grasped at the metal bars that ran down half the length of the door and shook them futilely on its hinges. "Let me out of here!"
"You stay right there, you li'l imp!" the lanky Snatcher spat irritably. He sneered down at her as he clapped his hands together as though he was glad to be rid of her, his unpleasant face and long, beaked nose scrunched up in a look of distaste. "We'll be rid of you soon enough!" he huffed and stomped away, leaving Hermione glaring a hole through his back.
Fury and fear burned like acid behind her throat, her eyes stinging hot with unshed tears. She felt utterly helpless and scared and – weak – and she hated it. If only she knew how to summon lightening again and —
And —
She choked in sudden realisation. Her magic hadn't worked — it'd failed her. Hermione trembled at the thought. She'd felt it rise, hot and bright, felt it well up like it always did when she was upset – but it hadn't spilt out of her. Instead, it had sputtered out of existence, like a candle in the wind.
Her heart stuttered in her chest, her breath coming out in heavy pants.
For the first time in her life, Hermione felt weak and hopeless. What would she do without her magic?
Her tears fell. Then she hissed in pain and surprise. The hot trail of salty water had aggravated her smarting cheek. She lifted her hand and gingerly felt her left cheekbone. She winced at the spot of blood that came away with her questing fingers.
"D-did they catch you too?" a tiny voice asked, tremulous and hesitant.
Hermione froze. The voice carried through from within the depths of small wagon. She hadn't realised she wasn't alone. Slowly, cautiously, Hermione turned and looked over her shoulder, squinting her eyes against the dark shadows.
A little girl stepped bravely into the dim light that fell jaggedly through the barred windows, her shoulders hunched, her hair long and knotted around her head. She was small and clearly younger than Hermione.
"Y-your ch-cheek is b-bleeding," another voice spoke up quietly from the gloom.
When Hermione's eyes adjusted enough to the darkness, she could see another girl tucked in one corner of the wagon. She couldn't make out much of her features, but one thing Hermione could make out was another figure of a even smaller child wrapped in her arms.
"D-did the bad men t-take you, too?" the first girl asked.
Putting two and two together, Hermione's throat convulsed apprehensively. They'd been Snatched, too. She nodded in response, unable to find her voice in the face of her horror.
"U-us, too." The girl nodded empathetically. "My name's Sarah."
"I'm Janice," the one at the back supplied quietly.
She took a deep breath. "My name is Hermione."
Hermione leaned back against the metal door, wincing at the pain and soreness of her knees. The surface was cool even through her jacket. She lifted her head and looked around.
It was dark inside the wagon, save for the orange light that slashed across the wooden floorboards. There were windows on either side, long and rectangular, with metal bars along it's length and not much else. She craned her head over her shoulder peered through the bars of the door, surveying her surrounding for the first time.
Outside, a large bonfire burned bright, surrounded by at least three or four tents that she could see. On the other side of the open space, she could make out the shape of two other tumbleweed wagons, hidden under the trees, as well as about two or three other vehicles. Maybe more, though she couldn't see be sure. People, all swathed in long coats of varying shades of black, green, and brown, lurked around the area, some laughing and talking amongst themselves, others drinking what looked to be bottles of alcohol by the fire. Others hurried by without a care in the world.
In her struggle against that horrible Snatcher, Hermione hadn't noticed they'd been taken to a camp site. Her heart hammered in her chest as the possibilities of what was to come next flew through her mind, the lessons and texts she'd read bombarding her one after another once again.
"H-Hermione?"
Hermione turned her back to the door and sank to the floor. She lifted gaze to Sarah, who'd tucked herself back into the corner of the wagon, huddling beside Sarah.
"D-do you know what's going to happen to us?" she whispered.
Hermione's lips pressing into a grim line. "I don't know." But she had an idea. Hermione shook her head. She lifted up on her knees and gazed at the people she could see through the barred window again. "But I know it's nothing good."
.:OOO:.
That night, Hermione fell into restless sleep on the hard, uncomfortable floor, her dreams plagued with nightmares: visions of the woods, cold, dark and forbidding; an image of Mr Kelly lying on the hard ground, stiff and pale; flashes of yellow stained teeth and the face of a gaunt, horrific beast. All throughout the night, she awoke several times in cold sweat and dread, her limbs jerking her awake, her heart pounding loudly in her chest. By the time the sun rose over the horizon and the Snatchers's camp stirred to life once again, she was already wide awake.
Hermione stared at the almost mundane activities outside through the door's window, watching men and women move about their day with ease, and felt a tired numbness settle on her shoulders. The adrenaline and the turbulent emotions that had roiled inside her the day before had left her exhausted. She felt truly spent and hopeless.
Soon enough, the other children in the wagon with her awoke with giant yawns. Hermione turned her bleak gaze towards the noise just in time to see the youngest kid sit up and rub at their eyes sleepily. He wriggled around and started patting Janice on her cheek. The girl uncurled from her spot on the floor beside him and opened her own eyes.
"Hugo," she yawned as she sat up, "what is it?"
"I 'ungry," he declared.
Tucked in the other corner of the wagon, Sarah shifted around before finally sitting up, stifling a yawn. "What did he say?" She scratched at her head, eyes still half-shut.
"He says he's hungry." Janice patted Hugo's head and shook her own head. "We don't have food yet, Hugo."
From her own spot across them, Hermione watched their exchange in silence. Now that she thought about it, she hadn't eaten anything since midday yesterday, either. How were they going to eat locked inside this cage? Did the clobs starve the Freemen to death when they were caught too?
As if in answer to her question, the door behind her shook and clattered loudly. Hermione scrambled back until she hit the other end of the wagon. A woman in thick brown robes opened the door, an unpleasant scowl slashed across her pointy face. She tossed in a rusted tray sparsely laden with food and something large and cylindrical. They clattered loudly onto the floorboards like deafening thunderclaps.
"Eat up, ye dirty brats," she spat before she slammed the door shut again.
Silence rang for a long moment after the door was closed; no one moved.
Hermione eyed the tray warily. She could see a bunch of browning bananas on the tray, a bowl of wrinkled berries and some oranges. Finally, one of the girls on her left unfurled herself and crawled over to the discarded tray.
Janice picked up a banana, peeled it, and took a ravenous bite. Soon, Sarah and Hugo followed suit.
Hermione, on the other hand, stayed rooted on her spot, staring at the miserable feast before them and watched the kids dig in, dumbfounded.
'Is this supposed to be breakfast?' she thought, aghast.
It was only when Janice reached out to hand her an orange did Hermione finally stir. She looked down at the small hand cradling the fruit, considered refusing the offer…when her stomach growled. Loudly.
She sighed in resignation and took the orange.
'I guess it is.'
It didn't take them long to clear their tragic-looking breakfast. With their bellies filled, the other kids seemed to perk up. Their movements were hesitant but they were more talkative now than they had been since Hermione had arrived. All of them were obviously younger than Hermione, so perhaps food was what it only took to get their spirits up a little.
Hermione, however, retreated to her corner by the door. She was in no mood to talk. The sad bounty of food they'd been given to share hadn't satisfied her but it at least satiated her hunger. She sighed and looked down glumly at her hands, dirty and scraped. As were her knees, no doubt. And though she looked, she didn't really see. Her mind was somewhere else, flashing through yesterday's events: to Mr Kelly again, to the monster that pursued her, to her capture, to Dorcas, and finally, to her magic.
Surreal. Everything felt so surreal. She couldn't believe this was happening to her. But it was. And—
Hermione felt her breath hitch at the thought. She had felt her magic well up within her last night; she was sure of it. Like it did whenever she was angry or upset. Like it had when she'd conjured that lightening in front of Reggie Wright, intense and furious. She always never meant for it to happen when her magic got like that but an ensuing explosion of it had always, always followed.
So why hadn't it come last night when she'd been dragged and pushed around by that Snatcher? Did her magic — her breath hitched at the thought in panic — disappear? What would she do without her magic? Could magic just disappear like that?
Her mind raced with questions, each one more distressing than the one before.
No, she thought stubbornly, defiantly. Curling her hands into fists, Hermione's eyes lifted and landed on the discarded rusty tray at the corner, an empty bowl lying on top.
There was only one way to find out.
Steeling herself, the anxiety of finding out the state of her precious power crawled through her veins. She shifted over to the meagre tableware. She picked up the wooden bowl and, with her back to the rest of the occupants in the room, both of whom were still talking amongst themselves and the toddler playing with the emptied jug, cradled the empty dish between her hands. She closed her eyes and tried to steady her breathing, the way she'd learned to do when her parents had taught her when meditating.
When all that she could hear were her measured breathing and the world had fallen away, she reached into the well within herself, like she'd done many times before. The familiar warmth of her magic leapt to her call, buzzing, eager to perform the wonders they'd always done. In her mind's eye, she pictured the first thing that came to her mind: a knitting needle.
In the next moment, Hermione could feel the bowl flatten and elongate between her fingers, and when she opened her eyes, she found herself holding an exact replica of one of the knitting needles her mum had used. Elation rose from within her. Her magic. She hadn't lost it!
With shaky fingers, she rolled the metal between her hands. Anticipation built up inside her. She had her magic. She could escape.
Hope surging inside her, Hermione walked towards the door, heedless of the curious gazes of her fellow captives. All that mattered was that they could escape!
Eagerly, Hermione put a hand through the bars and tried to feel for the lock on the door. She stood on her tiptoes, rooting around blindly at the door's panel until she could make out the keyhole's shape. With enthusiasm, she called on her magic again. It rose towards her.
'Unlock.'
Her magic surged to do her bidding and then…
Nothing.
Did it not work?
Hermione grasped the bars in front of her and tried to push the door open. It didn't budge. Her brows furrowed in confusion. That didn't make any sense! Her magic had just worked a second ago!
Hermione glanced back at the discarded needle in her hand. She contemplated turning into some sort of tool to pick the lock, but she discarded it as soon as it came to her. She didn't even know how to pick a lock. That was Archie's specialty. She sighed and tried to shake the door open again in frustration.
Janice gasped. "Hermione, don't!"
Hermione spared the younger girl a look askance in time to see her glance nervously out the barred windows.
"The bad men will come!" she whispered urgently.
As if summon her words, the din outside grew louder. Shouts rang across the site, clanging and rumbling could be heard.
Hermione turned back to glance outside, when a gnarled, ugly face, contorted in distaste, appeared through the vertical bars.
Hermione drew back with a loud shriek, punctuated by the shrill cries that erupted from the others behind her. Hermione stumbled over her feet and fell to the floor with a hard thump, her wide eyes, never leaving the hideous face.
"Tryin' to escape, are ye, girlie?" The man laughed tauntingly, his derisive smirk revealing missing teeth. "This wagon is locked with magic, ye stupid bint! Ye'd never be able to open this!"
"Oi, Jasper! What're ye doin' over there?" a voice called out, sounding faint and distant. "Quit yer dawdling an' get over here! We've go' to clear out a'fore sundown!"
"I'm comin'! I'm comin'! Keep yer knickers on!" the menace at the door yelled back. He turned back to give them a flinty glare for a long moment before he cackled at how terrified they must have looked.
And then he walked off, leaving four frozen children trembling in his wake.
However, despite the rapid beating of her heart, Hermione latched on to that hideous, smelly man's words with no small amount of wonder. Locked with magic. She'd never considered something like that before. In spite of herself, Hermione's curiosity was piqued.
Unfortunately, she was unable to stew in her new discovery for very long.
The tumbleweed wagon they were on quivered to life. Scrambling up and looking through the barred windows for some clues, Hermione confirmed that they were moving. She glanced back at the three kids huddled together in one corner, looking as confused and scared as she felt.
A moment later, their wagon tilted back and they all slid on the floorboards with mild panic. Hermione held onto the walls beside her, her heart once again hammering hard in her chest as she recognised the sensation of their vehicle moving forward and up. Much like the carriage had done yesterday.
Grimly, she realised what was finally happening. The clobs were finally taking them to wherever they took captured Freemen.
They were taking them to the Empire.
.:OOO:.
The novelty of soaring through the sky wore off shortly after their departure from the Snatcher's camp…not that Hermione could fully appreciate its wonder. The last time, she'd been running for her life; this time, she was barely hanging onto it. Not even the beauty of the bare, leafless wood far below, nor the surreal feeling of being amongst the clouds, could make her forget the fact that she was being kidnapped by imperial clobs in a tumbleweed wagon.
With nothing to do but stare at the sky, she took the chance to get to know the other kids with her. Their stories were painfully reminiscent to hers. Sarah was eight years old. Her parents were wizarding merchants and they'd all been on their way to move to a bigger settlement that her dad had said would be a better place for their business, when the Snatchers had attacked their caravan. Her parents had been captured, though she didn't know whether or not they were alive. Janice, on the other hand, was nine, and little Hugo was only four. They were siblings and were born in a non-magical settlement like Hermione. They'd both been on their way to a new settlement when they'd been ambushed and caught.
Hermione heaved a heavy sigh. When she had learned about the clobs' atrocities towards the Freemen, she'd never thought that she'd be experiencing it first hand. Within the safety of the settlement, protected by walls that expelled magic, stories of clobs and captured Freemen were just that – stories. Cautionary tales that, though true, were as tangible as the wind. She hadn't realised just how real the Snatchers and the war between the Freemen and clobs were. Just how many people the Snatchers were actually able to capture and subjugate.
It was a sobering thought.
As the hours wore on and they were still aloft, sailing above trees and fields, Hermione stewed on about what would happen next. Restless, she stood and turned her gaze out the window. Their wagon was flanked by two other tumbleweed wagons. They were followed by two open-air carriages and she could see the Snatchers riding behind them, their dark robes billowing in the wind like dark, angry clouds.
Hermione wondered if Dorcas was inside one of those wagons or if she had escaped. If she had, Hermione was sure, in the way that only children could be, Dorcas would have wrecked havoc over the camp and rescued Hermione and the others. Well, at least, she hoped.
But Dorcas, who was a full grown clob, hadn't been able to escape, then what chance did Hermione have of breaking through a magical wagon?
The thought brought her gaze back to the door again. Curiosity, as it often did with Hermione, reared its head up once again. Inquisitively, she reached out and placed a hand on the door's cool metal surface, approximately right by the spot where she knew the keyhole to be.
She'd never come across a magical object before. Or, rather, something that had been enchanted. All she'd ever done with her magic seemed simple and basic in comparison. She could get things to levitate and move and, sometimes, she could transform one thing into something else. But she'd never thought anyone could put magic – infuse it – on a thing and keep it there.
The idea fascinated her, despite herself. Archie had always told her she was nosy, with a desire to always know things. He was right.
'And right now,' she thought as a small sliver of magic rose up to her fingertips, an unconscious, purely instinctive answer to her desire, 'I want to know about this door.'
Unbidden, a tangle of gossamer threads, shimmering silver and made out of pure energy flooded her mind's eye, raw, indecipherable. Mystical.
Hermione pulled back with a startled gasp, shocked. The image of the silver webs disappeared as soon as she did pulled herself away, torn so quickly from her, all she could do was blink in bemusement at the door.
What was that?
She stared at the door like a ninny.
Before she could think about what she'd seen, or even figure out what had happened and how she'd done it, the wagon shuddered violently and clattered under her feet. Hermione flailed, arms waving wildly in the air. The wheels hit the ground with a loud thud and she frantically caught herself against the wall before she could fall back onto her bottom – again.
Looking out the window once again, Hermione could see a wide open field stretched out from either side of their bumpy path, with only a tree or two every several metres apart to break the monotony. Her brows furrowed when she noticed that the two carriages that had been trailing behind them and the two other tumbleweed wagons stayed aloft. Were they headed to a different destination?
Her heart began to drum a nervous beat. Did that mean they – she and the other kids – were nearly at their destination?
Hermione didn't know what happened to magical children that had been Snatched. Beyond what the books had told her about what they did to non-magical people — enslaved, tortured, and, oftentimes, killed — what awaited her was truly unknown, but she had no reason to doubt that the same fate awaited her.
As if sharing her anxiety, the younger kids drew closer to her, an instinctive need to be close to someone bigger than them. Sarah reached out hesitantly and clutched at the back of Hermione's coat.
"Hermione, I'm scared," she whispered shakily.
"Where are they taking us?" Janice asked. She'd shrunk into the corner again, with Hugo in her arms. She shifted closer to Hermione and Janice, almost hiding behind their combined shadows.
Hermione gulped. "I don't know." She looked out again, just in time to see the trees begin to multiply in number, lining the road in neat shadow. Under different circumstances, it would have looked beautiful. As it was, it only looked ominous, the branches gnarled and thick, twisting in an almost sinister way.
Their wagon rattled on, its occupants flinching with each bump and clatter it made. After what seemed like an eternity, they passed through a dark and large wrought iron gate with tips so sharp, Hermione was sure it could pierce through anything. A shiver of foreboding slid down her spine
Their wagon clambered down the pebbled path, rolling down a long driveway, the gate growing smaller the further in they went. Unbelievably, the gates themselves closed all on their own with an echoing clang, sounding like a definitive snick of a lock snapping into place.
Hermione held her breath, not daring to move, until finally, they stopped. Voice could be heard from the outside, greetings exchanged, though she could barely hear the words; her head felt too light and it was hard for her to breathe again.
And then, the door cracked opened with an ominous whine on its hinges.
A man appeared, standing there with thinning, greasy hair and a long nose. "Out," he grunted with a contemptuous curl of his lips, his eyes flashing maliciously. "Welcome to yer new home."
.:OOO:.