Rain splashed into her face as she ran, the cold of it stinging her cheeks. It was dark and she grit her teeth as she once again fell into the mud, fingers gripping the sodden earth beneath her as she heaved herself back onto her feet. Gathering her sodden skirt into her hands, she lifted it as high as she could and began running, ignoring the burn in her lungs and the fear shivering beneath her skin - it had become a constant companion over the weeks that had passed with no word from Sonyea, becoming as much apart of her as her own blood. When she'd seen the body, bloated and grey in the entrance to Sonyea's hideout the fear had threatened to take over completely. There'd been no way of telling who the body had been, the decaying flesh no longer holding a hint of human, its putrid remains poisoning the air with death, the smell making her stomach turn till she'd been forced to throw up against the cave wall.
Smoke from the village rose into the air and Mina ran faster, notice crumpling in her hands - the ink had long since been washed away, but she could still see it as if it were burnt upon her eyes. The words had been bold and black, written so neatly it sickened her; Notice of Execution. The letters had wobbled in and out of focus as she'd read the names, most of them were faceless, fellow witches and wizards reduced to black scrawl upon the pages, their lives limited to a time and a place. But one had stood out, had screamed at her, reached out with all its impossibility and gripped her with panic.
There was already a crowd, men and women mingling in the square, their voices inaudible over the sound of the wind and rain, their life muted, taken over by the desperate pound of her heart as it threatened to beat out of her chest. She swallowed the burn of anger as she looked from face to face, those that had come out in droves to watch death with sick fascination; coats tugged around their bodies, feet stamping the floor to keep out the chill, and the excited wide-eyed search as they waited for the prisoners to be brought out, waited for her friend to meet her end. She wondered if they'd cheer, if they'd look into the eyes of those they had condemned and actually cheer at their passing. Her hands curled into fists as she thought of how she'd defended them, how she'd fought openly for things to be different, for bridges to be built, for the people before her to be free from the wrath of men like Arden. But against the flickering torchlight, she saw their ugliness and it made her want to hurt them.
The sky lightened slowly, the sun choked out by the thick grey clouds that continued to spill out sheets of rain, the drops splashing in puddles at Mina's feet. Rope hung from the gallows and swung almost hypnotically from side to side, freezing her in place. It was with a detached determination that she managed to move forward, turning her gaze from the pendulum of a noose with great difficulty, heavy steps on groaning wood the only thing that forced her to look up again.
Two guards held a woman between them, her face beaten and bloody beyond recognition. She'd been stripped naked, her thin body covered with burns and cuts and so pale and cold in the dreary weather that it was the lightest shade of blue. When the men relinquished their hold, she fell on the wooden floor of the gallows heavily.
Hermione thought she might scream at the sight, feeling a sickness in her gut, her heart breaking with her own hurt and Mina's. It was Sonyea. Mina's hand shook as it blocked a scream, unable to move as her friend tried to lift her body off the podium – arms wobbling with the effort.
A man with a scar across his face, heavily armoured, and looking smug, made his way up the podium, standing next to Sonyea as he addressed the crowd. "There is a plague upon our land, a plague of evil, that has come from the devil himself." There was a murmur of fear among the crowd, whispers of terror passed from one to another, and still Mina could not move. The man cleared his throat and continued to speak.
"This witch," he gestured half-heartedly to the woman at his feet, "will be the first of many to die. We will purge our land, we will take back what is ours, and remove the devil's power." People cheered in appreciation at the promise of their lands being safe, at the promise of death groups huddling closer together, craning their necks to get a better look at their salvation.
With a nod, the two soldiers marched forward, grasping Sonyea under the arms and hoisting her up. The spell that had held Mina in place, was suddenly broken and she found herself able to move, pushing forward through the crowd, Sonyea's name bubbling in the back of her throat, the only sound amongst the hush of anticipation that had settled on the spectators.
She'd almost made it - hand grasped around her wand, the gap quickly closing between her and the podium - when someone grabbed her, strong arms pulling her back. She fought, attempting to tug her wand out of her pocket. First, she would kill whoever held her back, then she would kill the rest of them. They deserved it for what they had done to Sonyea, a woman who had wanted only peace, a woman that had wanted only good for all those that had gathered to watch her die.
"Let go of me," she sobbed in frustration, trying pulling away. The stranger gripped her tighter, yanking her back through the crowd, wrapping their arms around her completely.
"Mina." Mina stilled, recognising his voice instantly. She turned to look at him, his clear blue eyes looking into hers with such sadness and guilt, that her own tears welled. She heard the lever being pulled, the trapdoor opening, and all the noise falling into it, leaving her with just the sound of her breath as the crowd silently cheered around her and the rope swayed dramatically out the corner of her eye. Grief clawed its way up from inside her and tore out her mouth in a scream of agony that brought all the other sounds with it, the world so loud around her that she found herself beating at Edwards's chests, burying her head in his shoulder. He held her, whispering words into her hair that she didn't bother to listen to, just shook and cried, remembering everything good and wonderful about Sonyea. Everything the woman had given up, everything she had risked, for her.
It took Hermione a moment to realise she was back in the room with the Sensieve, because the tears kept falling from her eyes and the grief was still there, hollowing her out till she felt like she was pain and emptiness. Draco's shirt was gripped in her fingers, wet from the rain falling from the ceiling and wet from her tears. His shifted slowly, uncertainly.
"Er, Granger." She could hear awkwardness in his voice, his heart thudding in his chest, the quick short, sharp intakes of breath, and wondered if holding her disgusted him that much.
"Can you just - just not be a dick for one second," she sniffed, gripping his shirt tight and burying her forehead into his chest to hide her tears. He didn't move for some time and Hermione had resigned herself to getting absolutely no sympathy from him, but then he took a step forward, his arms encircling her waist, tugging her hesitantly closer.
Hermione's shoulders shook as she cried, grateful that Draco said nothing as he held her, only rested his chin on the top of her head.
"What if - what if Harry -" she took a shuddering breath, unwilling to finish the sentence. Sonyea dying made everything seem so real.
Draco didn't say a word, instead, he pulled back looking down at her. His hair was dark with the rain, plastered across his forehead and Hermione's breath caught in her throat as she saw sympathy, shimmering in the grey depths of his eyes. Cautiously, as if uncertain of his own actions, he lifted his hand, dragging the pad of his thumb against her cheek, the connection sending tiny little sparks of magic across her skin. She was acutely aware of his other hand, still holding the small of her back, fingers splayed, the warmth of it seeping through her wet shirt. Hermione wondered if this was what his kindness looked like, wondered if beneath all his malice he actually was a good person.
"Potty isn't in the habit of dying, is he?" Hermione let her lips part slightly in shock, realising that Draco Malfoy was actually trying to make her feel better. She inspected his face for any signs of cruelty and found none. He was simply staring into her eyes, a strange sort of intensity swirling in his own. Quickly she pushed herself forward, wrapping her arms around the Slytherins neck, and hugged him, closing her eyes against all the fears and worries she had for Harry, concentrating on the infuriating blonde, and how strangely nice it felt when he held her.