Chapter Seventeen: Too Much
"You've got to spend some time, love,
You've got to spend some time, with me,
And I know that you'll find, love
I will possess your heart."
I Will Possess Your Heart- Death Cab for Cutie
When he awoke there was a sensation of such buoyancy in him that it manifested itself in a huge grin on his face-a true grin that spread from ear to ear, and slightly bewildered, chuckled softly to himself. Sitting up in the bed he stretched languidly, ignoring the various pains flaring up across his body as he flexed his arms and yawned widely before looking down at the witch by his side.
Those long dark brown curls were everywhere; splayed over their pillows and tangled around her arms, several thick strands lay across her face, shielding her eyes of the sight of him. Gently, he brushed the hair away from her face, trailing his fingertips over her cheeks with the gentlest of touches. He exhaled sharply upon catching sight of the bruises that littered her face. Purple and blue stretched across her cheekbones, she had bitten clear through her bottom lip, there were trails of dried blood going down from her lips to her chin, and the skin on her face appeared to be tight and shiny due to the dried tears that had stuck strands of hair to her cheeks. He had been much too rough with her-the evidence was staring him in the eyes, and he felt a surge of shame rush over him. Granted, he'd always been rough when bedding a witch but this was beyond that. He had only just gotten her, and might have killed her on their first night! That would not do.
I got too carried away.
Cupping her face in his palms, he muttered a healing spell and watched as the bruises faded slowly from underneath her skin. It took a more advanced healing spell to tend to her cut lip. As he stroked her cheeks softly, he resolved to control his temper from then on. She was his wife, his ultimate treasure, and he felt angry with himself for having beat her in this manner. He caressed her face, trying to smooth the crease between her brows. Still asleep, she shifted ever so slightly and he watched, fascinated. Somehow the sheets had been pulled away from her and her top half was exposed-he watched her nipples stiffen from the cold morning air. Draco admired them for a moment and placed a hand on the side of her breast. His thumb brushed against her nipple and he felt desire stir inside him once more.
That small touch sent the blood rushing down to his groin and he groaned hoarsely. Judging by the number of times he had fucked her the previous night, he was surprised he was still randy. He had been so furious upon learning that that bastard Potter had stolen a taste of what was his; and had fucked her with all the rage and lust he had been holding in for so long.
Ever since the Masquerade ball at Hogwarts, he had been under the impression that one of Hermione's three dunces had taken her virginity, but he had been wrong. Of course, Potter had tried; he had seen that when he had forced his way into her memories, but he had quickly forgotten after seeing what had happened after. And so, when he had pulled out the first time, he had been surprised to find that she had been a virgin after all. After the initial shock had worn off, he had hardened considerably and the elation and pride coursed through him.
Fueled by rage and lust, he'd rushed to have her at last; her pleas and cries of pain only made him harder and made his thrusts rougher. He knew he was hurting her, but he would never have dreamed of stopping, and several times, found he could not stop, even if he had wished to. He had wanted her for so long and now that he had her, he would never let her go. She was stunningly perfect; her body fit into his just right, the way she felt wrapped around his cock, so hot, so sweet, sent his eyeballs rolling upwards with pure pleasure as he moved in and out of her. Later on she had succumbed to the pain and fell into unconsciousness, lying limp on the cold grass. Once he had finished, he had carried his battered bride to his bed, which he hastily remade with a slash of his wand, and laid her down gently, as though she was made of glass.
There was something he needed to do before he went to bed. Two things, actually. He approached the ruined window, and with a few spells he had restored it to its original state, and had added several enchantments to prevent it from being broken again.
He had known he had forgotten something important earlier, and this had been it. So eager he had been to see her, he had forgotten to ward it so she would not attempt to escape. And attempt she did though he had meant what he had said. There were strong wards around his land; no one could get through or even leave without his permission. No one would find them here.
Once that was done with he strode back over to where she was, face still contorted with pain. Before going to sleep the night before he'd noticed her arm was broken, and quickly set about to healing it while she was still out, and then did the same for her ankle. Once the swelling had gone down and the bones had been mended, he pressed the back of his hand to her forehead to gauge her temperature. Nothing out of the ordinary-no doubt she would awaken soon, she was already beginning to stir.
Now that his wife was healed and out of danger he could relax. Draco took a step back and admired his handiwork from the night before. He couldn't help the fierce satisfaction he felt upon seeing he had claimed her at last.
There was blood smeared all along her inner thighs, still trickling down from her abused sex and seeping into the linen. Bruises in the shapes of his hands wrapped around her wrists and hips and all around her body; angry red scratch marks marred her beautiful creamy skin, the restraints on her wrists had chafed them, leaving them raw and bloody. A purpled ring of fingerprints adorned her throat like a cursed necklace. His semen coated her thighs and seeped out of her lower lips, and he was immediately hard as a rock again, just looking at her. She was finally his. The marriage had been consummated and now nothing could take her away from him.
Nothing.
Movement drew his attention upwards-her eyes were fluttering open and closed-she was wakening. A distressed groan left her open mouth, and she grimaced as she brought a hand to her forehead. Draco watched as she paused, wide-eyed, and sensed when the pain and the memories slammed back into her.
A harsh exhalation of breath broke the silence, and she whimpered as she caught sight of the remnants of their doomed honeymoon.
As he watched, she shut her eyes tight and waited exactly ten seconds before opening them again, but the scene remained unchanged. Sad eyes brimmed with tears, and then she noticed him at last.
"You..." she whispered hoarsely, terrified. Draco remembered her screams from mere hours ago, and she did too. Her hand clutched at her throat, and brought attention to her naked chest. Automatically she clenched the sheet in her fists and raised it to shield herself from his damning eyes.
"S-stay back," she ordered through croaking whispers, but he did not listen.
He crawled onto the bed, reaching for her, and at once, she let out a high, panicked mewling sound, and with obvious effort she wrenched herself up and to the far corner of the bed and stared at him through wild bloodshot eyes. Her pupils had shrunk to the size of a pin head. His hand trailed up and he caught her ankle, even as she tried to pull her leg back to herself.
Draco roughly yanked her leg towards himself, and she hissed with pain, her eyes rolling back. He supposed she must have torn some tissue or pulled a muscle. Later he would have Bogg tend to her more thoroughly.
"No!" she rasped. "Don't-don't touch me!"
Draco was startled to see tears leaking out of her eyes; she had cried so much already, he had thought she would have no more tears to shed at this point. Clearly, he had been wrong.
Though she continued to plead for him to let her go, he ignored her requests and settled himself over her, his painful erection rubbing against her vulva, which still burned and bled from the pain of the last attack. As soon as she felt his penis on her, she recoiled and the tears worsened, she shook her head and sobbed loudly, thrashing around as best as she was able to get free. His hand on her cheek caused her to shrink back, but her grabbed her chin and held her in place.
"Look at me."
Her eyes remained screwed shut.
"Look. At. Me."
Draco squeezed her chin between his fingers and she gasped, her lips parting ever so slightly as her eyes flew open.
Her eyes shone with tears, her long lashes were dark and spiky. He stared into her eyes; lost in their loveliness; the fear, the pain, the anger. Never had he encountered eyes as expressive as hers and he stared deep into them, entranced with their depth.
"Let me go," she whispered, her voice breaking. "You got what you wanted, now let me go."
He leaned in until their lips barely touched before he whispered, "I didn't just want the sex, Granger, though I am enjoying it immensely. I want you. Now get it into that clever head of yours," he tapped her forehead, "that I am never going to let you go."
He pressed his lips to hers and she let out a wail as he pushed into her opening and began to thrust rapidly, already almost at his climax.
"STOP!" Hermione cried out into his lips as he slammed into her, rocking the entire bed with the force of his thrusts. She beat at him with her fists, not even caring that he had healed her arm, pounding on his back and raking her nails against his skin, wherever she could reach. He hissed with pleasure as she frantically clawed at his back, and let out a hoarse moan as he came inside her, slowing to a grind to draw out his release.
Breathing hard, he drew back and kissed her soundly on the lips. Exhausted and shocked, she didn't move or fight. Her eyes were pained, lips clamped shut and she was breathing shallowly as he watched her.
"Wake up," he murmured, toying with a lock of her hair. She looked at him blankly.
Moving slowly so he wouldn't startle her further, he gathered her in his arms. Hermione could not resist, she was too weak and between her legs ached with a pain so intense she thought she would die from it. He held her to him and she cried silently, covering her face with her palms as her body trembled.
"Let me go. Please, Malfoy." She was speaking just above a whisper, but he heard her quite clearly. "I won't tell anyone-I promise."
Here she was abruptly silenced. He pushed her off his lap-not roughly- and walked to the far side of the room, just in front of the repaired window. She stared after him curiously, hopefully, wondering if perhaps her wish would be granted.
"Come."
She hesitated, still on the bed. She wasn't quite sure if she could walk; her entire body was throbbing in pain.
"I won't ask again." His voice chilled her, raising gooseflesh on her skin.
Slowly, carefully, she slid off the large bed to stand at its side. Suddenly aware of her nakedness, she brought her hands up to cover her breasts, wincing as her fingers brushed against all the bite marks he had left on them. As she stood, however, some of her long hair swung to her front, so at least she was partially covered, so she quickly lowered her hands to cover her lower area. Her leg and thigh muscles ached something terrible, though, they felt like jelly so that she swayed where she stood, and she was afraid she would fall any second. But at least she was standing. So far so good. She took a step-
and landed on the floor, biting her lips to keep from screaming in pain.
He was still standing before the window, those wicked grey eyes trained on her as he stayed absolutely still. He said nothing, but it was clear he would not help her.
I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, she chanted in her mind, gritting her teeth as she tried to stand again. Her fists clenched with the pain, her fingernails dug into her palms. The area between her legs was positively on fire; she felt raw-as though there were shards of glass embedded into the walls of her private flesh, tearing at each other as she moved. Fresh blood and hot cum trickled thickly down her legs, she stared at it in horror.
Hermione Granger was not a bad girl. She had good morals, had always striven to follow the rules and make as few mistakes as possible, but if there was one thing she was certain about in that moment it was that if she had her wand, or hell, even a gun, a knife, anything, she was sure she would have killed him without any hesitation.
Now on both feet, she moved as best as she could so as to not inflict more pain upon herself, which was virtually impossible.
All it took was one step and then another, and another, and it was like he was inside her again, forcing himself into her repeatedly, tearing her flesh. All Hermione wanted to do at that moment was to give in to her protesting muscles and let herself fall to the ground but she would not let her screams escape the confines of her throat, for she knew it would only give him pleasure.
She fell two more times-by the last tumble she felt light-headed and didn't think she would ever be able to walk again, and had been sorely tempted to let herself lie there until she died. Her throat burned from the grunts of pain she held back. His cum clung to her legs as it dried, she found herself wishing she could set herself on fire to get rid of any trace of himself he had left on her.
At last she reached him. Her cheeks were aflame, he had been watching her intently from the beginning of her plight, and she had caught him looking at the marks on her body. He seemed almost proud of himself, though he was not smiling, she could just feel the smugness radiating from him. He himself had a few bleeding scratches and bruises from her struggles, and she was horrified and intensely embarrassed to see her own blood smeared along his thighs and groin. Otherwise, he was relatively unscathed, and she hated him for it.
At that moment, she was filled with a hatred unlike any she had ever felt before. It raced through her veins and clouded her mind, and her body tightened with it, shaking uncontrollably. She wanted to hurt him, just as much as he had hurt her and beyond, so that he would scream as much as she had screamed that night, so that his body would feel as though it held daggers underneath his skin, so that he would cry for mercy just as she had.
Hermione trembled under his gaze-both rage and fear warred within her. She couldn't help it. More than anything she wanted herself to be strong, to not reveal how utterly defeated and torn she felt, figuratively and literally. Here they were, naked in each other's presence, after he had raped her for what felt like hours on end, her body horribly battered and yet aside from her blood on his privates, he looked fine. Like there was nothing wrong. Like he wasn't the piece of dung he really was. His stupid eyes practically sparkled with victory, and his whole body was relaxed, because he knew she could not fight back. He had won.
No.
She raised her fists and let out a strangled yell as she rushed to close the margin of space left in between them. Her fingers were curled like claws and she found herself anxious to see his blood on them, to feel his heart beat fading underneath her hands. Her legs ached immensely, but the sweet thought of causing him harm shoved the pain to the back of her mind as she prepared to do just that.
Somehow, amazingly, her fists paused within an inch of striking at his chest and not by her own volition. She tried again and the same thing happened. He watched her, smirking as she tried again and again to strike at his chest or grab his neck or take a swing at his face, and yet not a single blow was delivered.
Her breathing was ragged once again, desperation grew inside of her as she finally halted her attempted assault, panting.
"What-"
Malfoy reached out and brought her hands to his chest, placing her palms flat on his skin. She made to jerk away but he wouldn't let her.
"Have you forgotten?" he asked quietly. "The ring still has the same enchantments as before. As long as you wear it, you cannot harm me."
Her eyes widened as she stared past his chest, her hands slackening and sliding a little ways down his chest. He bit back a moan at the sensation and waited as she looked back up at him. Her brown eyes practically blazed with hatred, and he found he was a little intimidated by the ferocity in her glare.
"You son of a banshee!" she hissed so sharply it almost hurt his ears. "After all you've done you won't even let me fight back?! What am I, some sort of mindless slave?! You've ruined everything!"
"Is it because you're afraid of me?" she continued quickly, her eyes shining with a strange light. "You're restraining me like this because you're afraid that I'm more clever than you realize, isn't it? You know I could beat you." she gave a strange laugh. "I always have."
He said nothing.
She subdued then, and looked at him. He felt her eyes searching him for something, and he stared back calmly.
"Is this why you've done all this?" she asked. "To get back at me?"
"It was, in the beginning," he admitted softly. "I hated you so much, because you were no better than vermin and yet everything you did drew me in. You were so far beneath me and yet you are one of the most powerful witches in my acquaintance, you are everything I could have hoped for in my future wife, which you are now."
She took a step back, shaking her head, but he would have none of it. Draco yanked her sharply back to himself, gripping her arms.
"Oh no, sweetheart," he snarled, "You wanted the truth and here it is, so you might as well listen." She struggled against his hold still, but he kept speaking, because he knew she was listening.
"Every time," he growled, snaking his hand up to her hair and grabbing a fistful of her curls. She gasped as he drew her head back sharply to look into her eyes. Her lips quivered but she said nothing, staring up at him in fear.
"Every time you bested me in any class, whenever you rattled off another answer to a question, all I could think about was grabbing you by the hair and fucking you hard over your desk. I watched you every day, my love. I couldn't get enough of you." His chuckle rumbled low in his chest and she shivered as she felt it. "You cast your spell on me, little witch. And soon after all I could think about was making you mine."
"I am not a possession!" she hissed. "I am not an object, waiting to be claimed! You can't do this!"
His finger on her lips silenced her and she jerked away.
"Protest for as long as you want but our marriage is consummated," he murmured. "You are mine."
She made an exasperated sound, and shook her head wildly in all her distress. Her throat burned from all the screaming she'd done the night before and the screaming she'd done moments prior.
"Don't agitate yourself, pet. This ought to be a happy time for you," he said calmly, rubbing her arms.
She stumbled back from his embrace and he let her, watching as she fell to the ground, having forgot her physical state. Struggling for breath, she scooted herself backwards until she bumped into the side of the bed.
She was looking at him as though he was some sort of wild beast. He frowned.
All the whispers, the countless sighs and wistful remarks she had ever heard at Hogwarts echoed through her mind. How many times had she suffered through a class or lunch break, forced to listen to the other girls around her chatter on about how beautiful Draco Malfoy was as he swaggered through the hall or sent them disdainful looks from the other side of the classroom? Even she had had to admit to herself long ago that he was very handsome, but she'd never, ever joined in with the longing sighs, because she'd been lucky enough to know what he was really like. To think, what she'd thought she'd known about him then was barely a glimpse into a chaotically woven tapestry that was fringed and burnt on all edges.
Now as he stood there in front of the window, the steadily strengthening light of the morning sun set his fair hair aglow and shined along his porcelain skin, she could not deny that he was beautiful. If it wasn't for all that he had done to her, she would have thought him to look an angel. But it didn't matter how beautiful he was. What he had done (and what would he do in the future? she thought) was unforgivable.
He should have red eyes and pointed teeth, scarred skin and three toed feet and sickly green scales, she thought angrily to herself. He doesn't deserve to look so beautiful. He is a monster; a demon.
She thought to her classmates back in Hogwarts. Would they still blush and sigh over him if they knew what he'd done to her, what he was capable of? That he had no remorse?
She didn't dare look into his eyes, for she was sure she would break if she did. It didn't matter anyway. He approached her, even as she dragged herself away on her elbows, modesty be damned. Once she was out in the open he began to circle her, and she stopped, having nowhere else to go. Though she tried not to let it show her body shook badly, and she knew he had noticed.
"I already told you I would never let you go," he said calmly. "So it's no use begging for it."
Her body sagged with grief, but at the same time, her temper flared up, white-hot and lethal.
"You can't honestly kidnap me and think no one's going to come looking for me! Are you so stupid? Did you think I would just give up once you captured me? You may have married me, and you may have raped me but I will never give up until I am free of you."
He said nothing, staring impassively at her throughout her tirade. It was like she was talking to a concrete slab. Hermione tightened her fists, and then remembered that was useless.
"You know," he said, "It's all thanks to your love that you're mine. He left you there for me to take."
"What are you talking about?" she asked impatiently. "He left me behind because he wanted me to be safe. None of this ever would have happened if I'd listened to him. I ignored what he said and thought I could reach them in time." Her voice began to break, to her embarrassment. "It's my own fault I was captured, not his."
"Is that what you think?" he asked, coming forward to cup her face in his hands. Although his actions were gentle the malice in his eyes remained. "He left you, sweetheart. If he really loved you he would have known you would follow them. If he loved you he would have taken you along instead of keeping their departure a secret from you. He never would have left you vulnerable, ripe for plucking. But he did."
"Stop-" she tried to pull away. He held fast to her.
"Potter knows the things I've done," he said, leaning closer. "Did he really think that castle could keep me out forever?" He laughed. "I've breached it twice, little bird. Don't you remember?"
Hermione said nothing. She knew his intent, and refused to let his words impact her.
"He was trying to protect me," she said firmly.
His lips brushed against hers and she squirmed. "And look where that got you."
Hermione tried to pull away and couldn't. "I won't stay here," she said, suppressing a violent shiver as he kissed his way down her neck. "I'll find a way out."
"You can try," he said. "But you won't get anywhere. Even if your little friends look for you, they won't ever find you, that I can guarantee. This place is too well protected. I do have to keep my wife safe, don't I?" He laughed to himself as she flinched at the term. "Not only that, dearest, but I doubt you will find a way to get past me. I have taken your wand, and there is a charm inside and around this Manor that prevents you from using wandless magic of any kind. There's a great many things you need to learn, pet. These are only a few of them. But here's another one, while we're at it."
Suddenly, he was crouching down in front of her knees, gripping her thighs. Hermione gave a startled shout as he ran his fingers along and upwards the trail of blood and cum, collecting the messy substances in his palm. He ran his fingers along her sticky folds and she tried to tear herself away to no avail. He stood quickly and she quieted, watching with frightened eyes as he brought his hand up to her face. His fingers were coated thickly in the mess, and he rubbed them together as he spoke to emphasize his point.
"I own you, Granger. Your belly is full of my seed, that sweet little pussy belongs to me. This window," he gestured behind them, "was my wedding gift to you. First of all: It's rude to break such a gift. That took me a lot of time and effort to have constructed. Secondly: I will not have you speaking to me in such a manner. I am your husband, and you will show me respect. Thirdly," he brought his fingers up to her lips. "Open."
She stared at him with disgust. "Are you mad? Wedding gift? Is that your way of trying to sway me over before you force yourself on me? And you do not own me!"
No sooner had she finished than he had plunged his fingers inside her mouth, holding her jaw tightly with his other hand so she would not bite him. She gagged and spluttered in shock, bringing her hands up to shove him away, only to find they had been magically bound behind her back.
"Lick them clean," he ordered.
She stared at him in disbelief and shook her head, frowning.
He gripped her jaw more tightly, and she winced, a muffled sound of pain emitting from her mouth.
"This is me being nice, Princess," he hissed. "Unless you want my cock instead of my fingers in that pretty little mouth, I suggest you do as I say." His eyes flashed malevolently, and she shed tears of humiliation as she licked her own blood and his semen off his fingers, gagging at the taste. Draco shuddered as she did so, and bent forward to suck at her jaw as she finished. She didn't need to wait for his next order, so she swallowed it quickly, shuddering as she felt it slip down her throat.
"I wasn't trying to 'sway you over' with that gift, as you put it, love. I know how attached you were to that place, and figured you would like having one of your own." He wrapped one arm around her waist, securing her to him, and pressed his hips against hers as he slowly removed his fingers from her mouth.
She turned away as he loosed his grip on her jaw, trailing his hand down to cup her neck.
"How does it feel to be the new Mrs. Malfoy?" he asked as he bent down and buried his face in the junction between her neck and her shoulder. She stayed absolutely still, quivering with fear.
"Like I'm in a nightmare," she whispered hoarsely. "I don't want this-any of it. I hate you so much, Malfoy."
He chuckled, brushing his thumb over her cheek. "You'll get used to it soon enough. Of course, we are to visit mother and father in a week's time." She stiffened at the news, and looked up at him, stricken.
"What?"
"They are quite anxious to see you," he added, watching her carefully. "As is the Dark Lord."
That did it. This was too much to process. First Harry and Ron's desertion, then the capture and rape, then waking up to all this?
He caught her as she slumped to the ground, unconscious. He set her down on the bed, taking care not to press on her bruises, and after settling her head on his pillow, he called for Bogg.
As Bogg tended to her, he stroked her hair, lost in his thoughts. Perhaps he should have left that last bit of news for later. She had gone through too much in so little time; he had been a fool to rush in with this news so quickly. He needed to give her time.
Mrs. Weasley tapped her foot on the ground anxiously as she waited. It was a habit of Arthur's she had picked up over the years, one she'd detested at first and then had grown to adopt it herself, much to her displeasure. She smiled and nodded at the other magical folk, who merrily called out greetings as they passed by. Bustling about and merry faced with excitement, they were all waiting for the Hogwarts express to bring their children home for the holiday.
Knackered after a long, busy day, Mrs. Weasley sighed. Much of the past week had been spent in preparing the Burrow-cleaning, mending, washing, and cooking. Her legs ached and her arms were quite sore; she was in need of sleep and perhaps a bit of Firewhiskey, but she couldn't have missed this. Arthur was away at work, and she had left the twins in charge of a pudding she had made just prior to leaving for the station. To everyone's collective shock they had become somewhat more responsible since starting their own business so she knew she could trust them, but found she was still reverting to old habits, and frequently found herself praying the house would be still standing by the time she got back.
A glance at her wrist watch informed her there were still twenty minutes until the train rolled in. She began tapping her foot harder.
She had already finished making their presents, as well. Though she knew it was silly of her to continue making them those jumpers, she couldn't help but make them, anyway. It was almost a tradition of sorts. She'd tuck herself away somewhere inside the Burrow while everyone was busy and she'd spend hours making those jumpers by hand, not magic. She prided herself on those. It was her own way of telling Harry and Hermione she considered them part of the family-her own children, even. She knew they genuinely appreciated the gifts, especially Harry, and even though everyone else would simply shrug them on half-heartedly and the twins would crack their usual jokes, she knew they all liked them. Fred and George were already wearing theirs, of course. She had made them specially to match the bold colour scheme of their shop. Harry's was a dark blue; Ron's was that shade of brown he was particularly fond of. She hoped they would fit, the two boys seemed to grow bigger and bigger every time she saw them. Hermione and Ginny's were more detailed, with more intricate patterns and softer colours. She had already sent Bill and Charlie their own, she had even taken the time to carefully make one for Fleur; a soft wrap made of the finest, silver-coloured mohair yarn she could afford.
The train's whistle broke through her thoughts and she gave a startled little jump, looking around nervously. The Hogwarts express had already stopped and students were streaming through its doors, slipping into the surging crowd of anxious parents. Mrs. Weasley shuffled closer to the mass of people, craning her neck this way and that, searching for her children.
"Mum!"
Mrs. Weasley turned in time to find Ginny rushing towards her. She knew at once something was not right. Ginny's face was anxious and she was barreling past her peers, rather than take a few minutes to wish them a happy holiday like she normally did.
"What's wrong, Ginny?" Mrs. Weasley asked at once.
"It's Hermione. She was supposed to meet me at breakfast, before we got on the train, though she didn't, and I thought she was late so I went on to board the train and I thought she would be there but no one's seen her or Harry or Ron," Ginny said quickly, drawing in a deep breath once she had finished.
Now very concerned, Molly placed her hands on her daughter's shoulders, searching her eyes.
"Are you sure?"
"Mum, I'm positive. I've been looking for them since the train ride began; no one's seen any of them since the ball last night." Ginny's face was so pale, her freckles stood out against her skin, as though they had been drawn in with ink.
Mrs. Weasley began to look around, searching with old, yet alert eyes. Everywhere she looked she saw students reuniting with their families, all joy and laughter. Grasping her daughter's hand and tugging her along, she struggled along the platform, searching in vain for her redheaded son and his two best friends.
"I talked to Neville, too, and he said that they all seemed a bit off at the ball, just before they left. He was also looking for Hermione, and tried to help me find them, but no one's seen them," Ginny babbled on, close to tears as her mother came to a stop at the end of the platform. "What are we going to do, mum?"
Mrs. Weasley's heart was racing. She had been worried something like this would happen for some time, but she had not expected it so soon. She thought of the trio, of all their secret little meetings in the Burrow this past summer, how grim they had looked most of the time. With all the terrible things happening in the Wizarding World; the kidnappings, the attacks on Muggles and Muggleborns, the suspected infiltration of the Ministry and the increased Death Eater attacks, she knew Harry was determined to end it once and for all. And to think that Hermione and Ron were with him! She should have felt proud, maybe even a bit angry, but it was impossible when all she could think was what if they get lost, or hurt, or Merlin forbid, captured? They're only children after all!
She longed to cry. They should have kept a closer watch on them all. But there was no time to waste. They had to take action.
As soon as they arrived at the Burrow, she left Ginny to explain the situation to Fred and George as she penned a carefully coded message to Arthur and other members of the Order.
After she had sent Errol off with the notes she rushed to the sitting room, where three of her children sat, ashen-faced and silent. It had begun to snow again, and she watched as the flurries of snowflakes made their way down to the ground.
"What do we do now?" Fred asked quietly.
Mrs. Weasley stared after Errol flying further into the darkening sky, his slight form growing fainter and fainter.
"We wait."
