Chapter Two
Hermione tried to ignore that she was awake. Her head felt heavy, like her brain had been replaced with rocks tumbling about between her ears all night, and her body seemed to actually feel worse for having rested. As though she'd been boxing in her sleep, or something equally ridiculous and taxing.
Biting back a groan, she pressed her hand to her forehead. The witch pulled herself to sit up before she even opened her eyes, sparing a moment to try and get her bearings.
The memory of last night's scene in Malfoy Manor crashed through her and she winced, fighting off a sudden upwelling of tears. That was right. Ron and Dobby were dead, she and Harry had been separated. She was lost and alone somewhere in the forested grounds edging the manor with a nicked wand.
And nightfall would bring with it a full moon.
Swallowing hard, she pushed aside her discomfort and stood. She'd close up the tent, find a path out of these godforsaken woods, and then make her way to . . . . Oh, hell, to somewhere safe.
With any luck, Voldemort wouldn't let the werewolves run free out here, after all, and her worry would be for nothing. But she wasn't counting on that, luck hadn't exactly been on her side as of late.
"Lumos."
Disoriented, still, from her restless sleep, she didn't realize until she illuminated said nicked wand that she'd had to illuminate it due to how dark the tent's interior was. Either she'd only slept a few hours and the sun had not yet come up, or . . . .
Darting to the tent's entrance, she pushed open the flap. Hermione poked out her head and looked to the night sky.
"Oh, no," she said, her voice barely audible and a chill running along her skin as she saw the full moon hanging over her.
Ducking back inside, she considered her options. She could try to sneak her way through these woods and hope there weren't any werewolves stalking through the trees. She could fortify her wards and stay in the tent. Though, she didn't have much faith in that option, as the wards could not possibly be as powerful as they needed because she was not the wand's true owner. She could try Apparrating . . . but, again, with a nicked wand, she couldn't be certain the travel would go smoothly.
And even if it did, she wasn't sure where to go. It seemed no place was safe. If only she had some inkling where Dobby had been trying to take them, or where Harry might've ended up.
At least on the move, she could defend herself. It wasn't a happy option, but it was the one with the most likely outcome of her surviving 'til morning.
Imagine that, she thought in a snarky tone, putting myself outside where werewolves might be lurking is the safe route. Oh, where did your life go so bloody wrong, Hermione?
Though she very much wanted to pout and internally whine about being so insistent on being Harry's friend having been the downturn, this was not the time for wallowing.
Taking a deep breath, the witch nodded and squared her shoulders. "All right, Hermione. Let's do this!"
Fenrir watched the moon, a frown tugging the corners of his mouth downward. He'd delayed his shifting and wasn't certain how much longer he could hold off, but he'd had to check. There'd just been some nagging sensation in the back of his mind.
When he'd placed the dying Lucius Malfoy beneath that tree, he had been certain he'd stuck around until the pale-haired wizard had drawn his last breath. He'd been certain there was no life left in the man as he walked away, thinking to let nature take its course, leaving the would-be werewolf's corpse to the earth and the animals.
Yet, throughout the night and following day, that one moment kept echoing in his head. That sound of a growl rumbling in the back of Lucius' throat as he'd stared down the Dark Lord mere moments after he'd been bitten.
Someone showing the curse's effects so very fast shouldn't have succumbed so easily, age notwithstanding.
The air was still crisp and damp from the rain the night before, dulling his sense of smell, even with the change trying to edge its way through him. Likely it was paranoia bred from keeping such close quarters with Death Eaters as of late, but he felt he had to check.
Check, then he'd disappear into the thicket of woods the Dark Lord had specifically designated for the werewolves to roam this particular full moon. Insufferable it was, only being permitted to run free when Voldemort had use of their ferocity.
If the vile creature would let slip their leashes just once . . . .
Giving himself a shake—he couldn't let on that he had any such thoughts, after all—Fenrir, unable to pick up any clear scents like this, ventured into the tree-line surrounding Malfoy Manor.
Though he could see quite well in the twilight-dark of the forest, he didn't want to believe his own eyes. Feeling a need to get closer, to verify what he thought he was seeing, he continued on to the exact spot, despite that he was perfectly aware of the truth before him.
Coming to a halt at the base of the tree, he blinked hard and shook his head, assuring himself his looming change wasn't affecting his senses negatively and playing tricks on his mind, either. The recent rainfall had washed away any sign of what might've happened, only added by the occasional drizzle coming through, but whatever it was . . . .
Lucius Malfoy was nowhere to be seen. And Fenrir had no time to search for him, given the pull of the moon increasing with every passing moment.
Uttering a whining growl under his breath, he cast a look about. "Fuck," he said in a seething whisper before feeling all but forced to turn and start off in the direction the ruddy Dark Lord had ordered all his kind to go.
She hated that she was jumping at every sound. Hermione did try to tell herself that under the circumstances, her caution was warranted. The logic of it didn't make her feel any less ridiculous each time she whirled with her wand at the ready to find her weapon aimed at nothing, or some nocturnal woodland creature scurrying past.
That logic also dictated those very same nocturnal woodland creatures would not be showing themselves, at all, were there supernaturally imbued apex predators such as werewolves on the loose, did not help to ease her nerves, either.
It was dark, it was muddy, the air was almost nauseatingly damp against the bare skin of her face and neck, and the sound of her own footfalls as she took slogging steps across still-wet earth irritated her. She just wanted to get to the edge of the trees and be able to see anything beyond. While she knew she wasn't going in circles, either the bit of forested earth surrounding her was more expansive than she'd realized, or her progresses was too hindered by the combination of her own anxiety and her trudging, muddy footsteps.
Perhaps, she thought with a sigh, if she'd been on the move this long and not happened across—or been happened across by— any werewolves, she'd been right, and Voldemort didn't let the creatures simply run rampant on a full moon unless it fit in with his agenda, somehow. But then, perhaps, last night's rain still heavy in the air just made the scent of lone, wandering human difficult for any of them to pick up, and so they simply weren't aware she was even there, just yet.
Hermione rolled her eyes. God! Just shut up, already, would you? As if her situation wasn't dismal enough, there went her own imagination making things even worse.
A sound behind her had her whirling on her heel all over again as another patch of that damnable, intermittent drizzling started up. Her eyes had adjusted to the low light, but even so, she squinted into the darkness before her, trying to see if there was something out there. Illuminating her wand would draw undo attention to her if there was something trying to trail her, and she had to remind herself of that for the umpteenth time as she backpedaled from whatever that sound might've been.
The muddy earth gave way under her heel and she fell backward.
Hitting the ground with a splash, she had to bite back a yelp of shock at the chilly water. She really didn't have any luck at all, she considered as she looked about at the icy, muddy puddle in which she'd landed. The recessed spot in the forest floor deepened behind her and she felt herself starting to slide backward.
"Shit," the word escaped her in a hissing whisper as she scrambled forward, out of the—what she now noticed as she spun to see it clearly—massive puddle.
Bloody thing was more like a pool!
Swallowing hard as she climbed to her feet, she realized it was actually rather fortunate that she'd stumbled into it the way she had. If the surface of the swampy looking little pool had been calm, she'd never have noticed it and would've walked right into this muddy, cold bit of nightmare. Not that having her bum soaked was much better, but it was better than falling face-forward into the muck.
Now that the surface was still shifting about in small ripples, she could make out the whole thing clearly enough to start around it.
Finally feeling secure that she was not in the presence of any lurking creatures of the night—after all, that splash would've alerted them to the presence of prey no matter what else she'd done to elude them up until this point—she at last illuminated her wand. But she kept the light low, just enough that it aided her in edging her way around the impressive patch of ungodly water and soggy earth.
She rounded to the other side only to feel her breath thundering out of her as she noticed a body face-down, floating in what was likely knee-deep muck. And they were not moving.
"Oh, dear God!"
They were too mud-drenched for her to make out any defining characteristics, but from the breadth of the shoulders, she guessed it was a male, and probably too large for her to drag out on her own.
"Nox." Drawing a breath and letting it out slow—she might not have time to spare for steadying her nerves, but the stolen wand would require more focus to do its job effectively—she aimed at the body. "Levicorpus."
She could feel the wand fighting her a bit, but with an unsettling mucky sort of sound, the body lifted from the frightfully large puddle. Backpedaling from the edge, she directed it to the ground at her feet.
"Lumos."
Hermione settled on her knees beside the man, her hand against his throat to check for his pulse. There. The thudding was surprisingly strong against her fingertips, despite the circumstances in which she'd found him. Okay, that was good.
As she cast a glance as his mud-slicked face, however, she recognized the features.
"Mr. Malfoy?" she whispered. Wincing, she looked about, as though expecting anyone else to suddenly pop up and judge her for her heartbeat of hesitation.
Yet, hesitate she did. He was one of the people responsible for all of this! She should . . . she should ruddy well put him right back where she found him and continue on her way!
But her own stupid conscience got in the way of that notion.
With a sigh at herself and a shake of her head, she shifted closer. As she leaned to check if he was breathing—time really was getting to be of the essence, here, but she seemed unable to force herself to act any faster—she noticed the mud had settled into a nasty, crescent-shaped wound on his forearm.
He'd been bitten by a werewolf?!
Either the bite was too much for him and he was dying, anyway, or it had happened too close to the full moon for the curse to take hold of him, just yet.
"What the hell happened after—?" Her gaze had swept up to his face as she spoke, cutting herself off as she found his grey eyes had snapped open and he was staring at her. Only . . . .
Only the grey of those eyes, in the light cast by her illuminated wand, were ringed and veined by bright wolfish amber. Leaned close to him as she was, she didn't have the chance to back away in time.
His wounded arm slipped around her, that hand clamping the back of her neck as he grabbed her wand hand with the other. Uttering a low, threatening growl, he bolted upright and wrenched her against him.
She let loose a scream as he sank his teeth into the muscle between her neck and her shoulder. There seemed nothing human in him, that low, terrifying grumbling sound in his throat continuing as he bit down.
Almost instantly, the witch felt a bizarre disconnection from the moment. Her inner voice weary, she wondered if the brutal after-effects of a werewolf bite could be felt so soon, because it seemed she was already aware that she was fighting to stay conscious.
She knew he was more animal-like than man in his thinking at this moment, and if she tried to struggle in his hold, he would only sink his teeth in deeper.
The pain had her empty stomach turning itself inside-out, even as shock started to set in, taking the edge off everything.
Shuddering as she tried to force a gulp down her throat, she managed to mutter his name in an attempt to get through to him.
Mr. Malfoy . . . ?
He heard a small voice saying his name. Though there was a strange, blurry sense that they were close, he couldn't help feeling the speaker stood far away.
As though he had to fight his way through some dense, red-tinged haze to make sense of what was happening. The last thing he recalled was Fenrir Greyback dragging him out of his own home like a pile of rubbish before the pain and disorientation from the bite had overwhelmed him, entirely.
And now he was . . . ?
"Mr. Malfoy?" a voice he thought he actually recognized whispered in halting way, the tone pleading and thick with tears. "Ple—please stop."
With a strange snapping sensation, he came back to his senses. He could taste blood in his mouth . . . he could feel his teeth sunk into something soft. He could hear the deafening beat of a pulse in his ears.
And then, he felt the weight of a body sagging against his.
Pulling back from whatever he'd just bitten into, he turned his head to spit out the blood before looking toward what had happened—toward what he'd done. He had recognized that voice. Slumped against his chest was the Mudblood girl, her head tipped to one side and a bloody crescent-shaped wound near her neck. Any closer to her throat and he might've . . . .
He'd bitten her! Dear God. The bite hadn't killed him, and he'd just passed on his affliction. Looking at the state of himself and his surroundings, it wasn't difficult to deduce what had happened. He'd stumbled across the woods in a daze and fallen into that ruddy puddle. She'd clearly been trying to save him.
Her save him? Madness on the face of it, but there it was.
Even after everything he and his son had put her through, she'd thought to rescue him? And this was how he repaid that. Mudblood or not, he'd always thought himself better than stooping to something of that sort.
Shaking his head—this was certainly no time for wallowing in self-pity—he slid his hands from the back of her neck and her wrist to grasp her shoulders. Giving her a light shake, he said, "Miss Granger?"
She was unresponsive. Still breathing, but the way her head lolled as he'd moved her was disconcerting.
Damn. He looked about the forest. There was no time to wonder how she'd even ended up here to trip over him like this. The Dark Lord wanted him dead, and Fenrir Greyback might come back at any time if he realized his victim hadn't died.
And if he left his rescuer here—much as he wanted to tell himself her fate didn't concern him—she would be right in Fenrir's path when he did come looking. He needed to find some place to hide. And, Miss Granger was terrifyingly intelligent. When she awoke, she might know what steps to take next.
He didn't bother troubling himself with the matter of if she awoke.
Holding in a strangely natural-feeling growl at his circumstances, Lucius moved her once more, slipping his arms under her and climbing to his feet. He spared a moment to get his bearings as he stooped to pick up the wand she'd dropped.
Apparition was out of the question, given her injured state. He'd just infected her with the lycanthropy curse, he wasn't exactly trying to top that by potentially mangling her already terrible wound with magical travel.
He didn't know if he considered himself fortunate or damned that he could see clearly enough in the night-dark of the forest to not need an illumination spell to guide him as he set off in search of some safe place. Any place, really, to secret himself and the unconscious witch away until morning.