Author's Note:
I promised I would get a chapter up by Monday. Well it's Sunday, and this is a two parter! Expect part two up shortly.
To all my readers who have been so patient and loyal, this one is for you guys. I truly am sorry, and I wanted it known that I did not forget about you, or this story.
Disclaimer:
J.K Rowling owns all.
Love and War Chapter 11
Journeys Part 1
The late August heat, thick with moisture, descended upon the forest surrounding Malfoy Manor. The wilderness, usually buzzing with life, had become lethargic in the swelter. The animals' steps had slowed, the leaves remained immobile from the lacking breeze; even the soft song the birds sang was sluggish. And still, at a speedy pace, Hermione Granger trekked through the unusually humid forest and George Weasley could not have been more worried.
Since the instant the protection wards were broken, Hermione had been pushing her body hard. A look of determination glued on her face, she pulled herself over huge fallen logs, waded through the flooded rivers and stumbled on the many scattered rocks. Her injuries, ever in the forefront of George's mind, had hardly healed and as time passed her movements became increasingly shakier. He watched as she struggled to get over a rather large fallen elder tree, refusing his assistance, and George felt the defeat slump with his shoulders.
Helplessness blanketed him snugly as his gaze landed on the bare skin exposed from her back sports bra. The gashes on Hermione's back had ripped open slightly; the scabbed flesh stretching and contracting constantly. Her wrapped ankle most likely throbbed under the weight of her steps as she hurled herself through the rough terrain. The bandage on her side, covering the words itched into her skin, was soaked through with fresh blood; an unfamiliar dark magic was used on that wound, of that George was sure. He toyed with the idea of forcing them to a stop, rest being beneficial, but arguing with Hermione, no matter how he worried, was anything but.
Above them the canopy of branches slowly loosened. The beams of light, which fell through the leaves, grew larger; peepholes had become skylights, accenting large sections of the earth. Beads of moisture clung to the air; it magnified the glow and reflected the day off the droplets. The trees were separating from one another, as if they were suddenly given more room to stretch their limbs; their roots secured within the earth instead of buckling upwards. It was all leading to one thing, and George Weasley marveled at its beauty.
The sun was blinding as Hermione and he came to the edge of a clearing. The meadow absorbed and reflected the midday sun; it was so bright it nearly countered Harry Potter's patronous. Wild flowers of yellow and purple prospered through the open field, seemingly dancing atop the long blades of green. It was all so inviting, as if magic was swirling around the field. He was tempted to just lie in the bed of grass and moss, however watching Hermione as she basked in the wonder, George knew better.
This forest, however beautiful, was a danger; the meadow being no different. Even in the daylight, darkness still surrounded them. It loomed behind the trunk of each tree, beneath the water of every river, and concealed itself within the life of each animal. The entirety of this tantalizing forest, overgrown with untamed wild magic, was shrouded in the evil of the war. George felt it soak into his bones the instant he stepped outside the tent flap in the early morning; the feeling lurking over him all day. It caused his hair to stand on end and kept his senses sharp. Yesterday's daring escape went unnoticed, but now, Hermione and he were the deer, and the death eaters were the wolves.
Hermione almost stepped out into the open when George grabbed her hand, pulling her into the thicker part of the tree line.
"We have to stay hidden until we can apparate," he whispered, urgency present in his voice, as he bent down to examine her ankle. "You've been on that all morning, how's it feeling?"
"Just fine," Hermione whispered back, but her cinnamon orbs hinted towards her pain. "The bandage is keeping the weight off." Taking a shaky a seat on a fallen log, she finally allowed herself a brief rest and George could not have been more relieved.
His fingers gently removed the bandage, massaging the tender skin and inspecting the area for any further damage. The potions had taken the swelling down in the morning, but after a day's long trek it had returned, darkening the bruises which lay over the joint. Yesterday the bone had been jutting out the skin, he thought, trying to reassure himself that a little swelling could have been worse but it did not quell the anger in his stomach.
George struggled to keep his emotions in check, his rage urging him to turn around, head back to the manor, and kill every death eater that lay a hand on his Hermione.
His Hermione. Merlin, he was in deep now. That was not the first time George placed a claim on her, but he could not help wanting to keep her with him, to keep her safe, especially after all that happened within their shared confines. His hands stilled after securing the bandage, itching to investigate the other wound. The one he knew would be the hardest to heal, but they did not have that much time.
With a silent sigh, George stood, studying the woods before him. Across the field laid more of the forest, though the foliage was not as thick. He could tell they were nearing the edge of the detection ring. The mountains were visible through the thinning hoard of cedar and hawthorn, and his body burned with the anticipation of home. It seemed as though this was the most direct path to safety but, the visibility would leave them vulnerable.
If his senses were right, death eaters were scouring the grounds by now, hunting for the two missing captives. And Merlin help them if they were found. Being out in the open, he knew would be faster, but definitely not wiser. Glancing to the right, he took in their second option.
The dense forest along the edge of the clearing would definitely be their safest route, but he could barely make out the light down that path. Long vines, large rocks, larger trees and tall grass would act as excellent cover, but maneuvering through it would prove difficult for himself, not to mention Hermione. It would take them another day to get out of this place.
"George," Hermione's breathless whimper brought him back, and immediately he turned to her, his gaze sweeping over her form.
The tight black and green sweat pants clung to her legs, extenuating every curve. She removed the green t-shirt she wore earlier, the heat becoming too much to handle, leaving her in her black sports bra. His eyes darkened with desire, taking in the expanse of skin exposed to him. The tight fabric made the rise and fall of her chest more noticeable; the long plait of her curly hair falling over her shoulder and nestled in the valley breasts.
It took all the self restraint he possessed not to kiss her senseless, but her voice drew him out of his wicked thoughts. "We are sitting ducks here."
"I know." His admission was not meant to be reassuring; they both knew that this close to the tree line they were visible. "I'm just gathering my bearings."
"Set up a ward if you need to rest," her voice softened, tapering at the end, hinting to her own desires; rest. With a curt nod he began the enchantments. A break would be a good way to slow Hermione's pace, but he was sure it would not last for long.
Her words were laced with an urgency of her own. She was on a mission, just like George, but while he longed for safety, she longed for home. This made Hermione more reckless in her decisions. Her normally logical sense of judgement was clouded by eagerness and memory.
Twice now Hermione got lost in her mind, letting past trauma take over. A faraway look filled her eyes, the amber ring around her chocolate pools swirled into a fiery blackness, as if the terror was closing in. George literally had to shake her back to reality each time. How much longer she would remain present with him? George was not sure. He just prayed she would never return from the reality she created. But the inevitability of it was certain. George just hoped the next time he could pull Hermione back at all.
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