AUTHOR'S NOTE: This chapter includes lyrics from "The Scientist" by Coldplay. Giving credit where credit is due :) enjoy!
Hot breath licked the back of her ears and neck; a simultaneous chill ran down her spine. A set of growls met her ears, the warmth recoiling as suddenly as she had felt it. The air seemed to be charged, causing every nerve in her body to stand on edge, her mind registering the sudden danger. Time stood still at that moment, all errant thoughts sent to the back of her mind as her instinct kicked into overdrive.
Hermione flung herself toward the cross, turning midair and catching sight of the beast. She fell to the ground, her shoulders displacing the soft Earth as she slid toward the memorial, the pond behind her rippling with the sudden shift in the air. The creature snarled, recoiling half a step toward the forests' edge, its figure falling slightly into the shadows. It was posturing back on its haunches; Hermione raised her wand.
She was effectively cornered: the beast before her, the pond to her rear, a lateral escape impossible lest she wanted to take a chance outrunning the dog. She thought about scrambling backward and into the pond behind her, but when she sat herself up, leaning back on her free hand, she felt the newly-transfigured vase. Running meant either trampling the memorial, which may have been impossible with the fresh stability charms, or quickly maneuvering around it, giving the beast a chance to attack when her back was turned.
While the Ministry policy was 'Flee, Don't Fight', Hermione felt that she didn't have much choice in the matter.
A red beam of light shot out from her wand causing the beast to step back on contact, shaking from where it had been hit. Its' hair stood on edge then and it staggered a step, disoriented but not totally stunned. Hermione searched her mind for a stronger stunner, but only lethal spells came to mind. It wasn't in her to kill – not anymore, not after all the years of peace… not after Australia – so instead, she threw up her strongest shield while her mind continued to search for alternatives, but none came.
How was it even possible? Hagrid was supposed to have found a suitable home for Fluffy, not let it loose in the Forest. Though perhaps the animal had found the forest as a home for itself, despite the Gamekeepers' best intentions and attempts to relocate it after her first year. The side heads snarled, shaking menacingly, drool dripping from the corners of their mouths. The middle head must have been the brains of the operation, the other heads waiting for its command. Hermione's heart had dropped to her stomach – this, surely this was the end. Perhaps Fluffy would be better named Cerberus, here to guide her through the gates of Hell.
She couldn't run, she couldn't stun, she couldn't kill… but she wasn't meant to die – not this way, cowering before a beast. No – she was Hermione Granger, she had an Order of Merlin for Godrics' sake… was she really going to succumb to a beast she had been able to pass at the age of twelve? Synapses fired in her brain, pulling forth her memory of the three-headed dog and how it had been controlled back then.
She closed her eyes tightly, plucking the first song she could find in her mind. Though her voice wasn't the best, she hoped it was sweet enough to save her life. And if she were to die? She'd go out singing, albeit off-key.
"Come up to meet you," She swallowed thickly against the hard lump in her throat when her voice came out croaky with fear, "Tell you I'm sorry. You don't know how lovely you are..." She extended the last note, trying to stretch sound into the gap between lyrics.
Hermione allowed one eye to open when she noticed the growls and snarling had quieted. Fluffy stared at her, looking significantly less angry, the jaws of the side heads going slack while the central head yawned. Hurriedly, she continued on with the verse. "I had to find you, tell you I need you, tell you I set you apart..."
The heads had started swinging with the entrancing tune, Hermione projected more, confidence filling her voice as her plan seemed to be working. "Tell me your secrets and ask me your questions. Oh, let's go back to the start. Running in circles, coming up tails. Heads on a science apart…"
Fluffy shuffled its feet, coming to a seating position, its breathing evened out. Fluffy's eyes had closed as she reached the chorus, she dropped her shield charm. "Nobody said it was easy. It's such a shame for us to part…"
"Nobody said it was easy. No one ever said it would be this hard..." Hermione stood cautiously, carefully lifting her feet and taking quiet steps around the beast, her voice drifting melodically through the chorus as she inched past the dog. She headed toward the treeline behind it. "Oh, take me back to the start."
She carried on singing as she disappeared into the trees, projecting her voice to not lose her power over the beast: "I was just guessing at numbers and figures, pulling the puzzles apart. Questions of science. Science and progress... do not speak as loud as my heart."
Fluffy seemed to have fallen asleep, its heads forming a tune of their own with a melody of snores. Hermione smiled from the cover of trees, carrying on with the tune as she turned to run from the three-headed dog, only to find another foe awaiting her.
"But tell me you love me," her voice faltered slightly; the white wolf sat a few trees away, his head cocked to the side, watching as Hermione continued singing. "Come back and haunt me. Oh, and I rush to the start."
She found herself trapped again, a sleeping Fluffy to her back and a predator awaiting her on her escape route; her hand inched toward her wand. She couldn't stop singing, lest the larger of the two beasts wake and attack her. So she prowled forward slowly toward the wolf, wand aloft, taking slow and even steps.
"Running in circles, chasing our tails…" she stretched out the note, spinning her wand in preparation to cast a spell. The wolf cocked its head to the other side, which would have been an adorable picture of confusion had Hermione believed that it was truly an animal and not something much more sinister entirely.
"...Coming back as we are." she sang, briefly pausing to mutter the animagus reversal spell. A blue light shot forth from her wand, which the animal deftly dodged. Hermione's face grew red with frustration, the words coming out aggressively now. "Nobody said it was easy..."
"Oh, it's such a shame for us to part…" She made a slashing movement in front of her body, wordlessly slicing a branch from the tree above the wolf. The limb fell just in front of the beast, only just missing him. A tree next to Hermione shifted then, a cluster of leaves swinging down and smacking the back of her head.
Hermione crouched, her eyes searching the wood frantically for the wizard controlling the branches, but she saw nothing: just the wolf. The two made eye contact, both looking equally surprised as the other. Hermione continued singing. "Nobody said it was easy… no one ever said it would be so hard…"
Her note died out, she readied herself to cast again, but the wolf didn't hesitate: sprinting off down the winding path. Hermione pushed herself to her knees, staring determinedly at the path ahead, the final lyrics falling from her lips, "I'm going back to the start."
Her vocalizations were quickly replaced with gasps for breath as she barreled after the wolf. Hermione hoped that Fluffy was sufficiently encumbered and not chasing after them as well.
Pushing herself with all her effort, she was able to keep the wolf in her sight, determined to not let it get away again despite its impressive speed. She raced through trees and up over fallen logs, twisting and turning through the wood as she ran blindly after the wolf, searching for the fur of white amongst the darkness that was the Forest at night.
Thorns and bushes scratched at her legs as Hermione followed the beast down an unfamiliar path, which she assumed to be in the centaurs' territory. Several times she tried to reveal the wolf, if it were an animagus, to its human form; shooting blue spells from her wand whenever she managed the breath for casting. But the wolf had impressive reflexes and Hermione kept missing her mark.
Her magic was drained, and her lungs burned for oxygen. It would have been easy to give up on the pursuit, but Hermione was determined. If she just kept going, if she didn't give up, she would catch the beast, corner it. She could start to get some answers as to what was really going on in the Dark Wood. She just had to keep going…
Hermione ducked when a gust of wind whipped her with another tree branch, fighting her way through the foliage toward a clearer patch of land, atop which a great oak stood. Hermione recognized it as the same oak with the barren branches that stood atop the cliff at the waters split she had visited with the thestrals. She knew precisely where they were on her map, coordinate B4.
The wolf sprinted forward while she broke through her entanglements, racing to the edge of the cliff. Hermione followed blindly, recalling several levitation and cushioning charms if she, in pursuit of the wolf, would have to jump. They weren't needed, however, as the wolf ducked into a hole at the base of the oak, slipping into a den beneath.
Hermione smirked. Caught you, she thought triumphantly.
She bent one knee, leaning on her elevated leg as she struggled to regain her breath. Her heart pounded in her ears, her eyes glued to the base of the oaks' trunk, waiting for the wolf to appear, to attack. The grip on her wand tightened, her arm jittery with adrenaline.
She whispered a spell, muffling her footsteps as she stood, hunched, and slowly approached the tree. Her attack would have to be quick and precise, hitting it with something strong enough to take down a bear. It would not outrun her this time, it would not elude her once more. She tiptoed toward the hole with a stunner on her lips, anxiously anticipating the wolf to spring forward with its own attack.
As she approached the base of the tree, she couldn't see anything under the stump, only darkness. Hermione found herself reaching for the silver blade the shopkeeper had given her, drawing it from her coat — just in case, Marian's words echoed in her mind. She hurried forward, digging her hiking boots into the ground between roots, whipping a stunner toward the hole under the tree trunk.
Electric purple shot from her wand but seemed to be swallowed by the darkness. Hermione furrowed her brow, taking half a step forward before she heard a crackling of electricity, a purple orb of light glowing at the base of the tree. Her eyes widened as the intensity of the magic grew, forcing all her hair to stand on edge in the charged air.
She could do nothing at that moment, the magic holding her in an almost gravitational pull. A thundering clap echoed, blinding purple sent out from the tree in a shock wave, hitting her squarely in the chest.
Hermione's vision faded to black. Her body went limp, tumbling to the soft Earth. In the aftershock of the spell, some magic recoiled, pulling Hermione's body toward the tree where she fell forward, face-first into the wolf's den.
It was the winds of grief that brought him here, swept forth from the castle where the winners got to honor those that they lost. While it was a common day for all participants in the war, it was only those on the right side that had the right to their public commemoration while those on the wrong side were forced to mourn in the shadows.
Wildflowers dropped from his mouth, a few petals breaking as they fell to the Earth. His pink and black nose nudged at the horizontal bar of the primitive cross, attempting to level it once more, but finding his attempt left it slightly more droopy than before. Bugger. Some things were better off left undisturbed.
He didn't spend long there, slinking into the wood when the first rays of sunset splashed across the sky. Each year on this day he always felt most at risk, as if someone might come looking around in the Forest, asking the sort of questions he hoped no witch or wizard alive had the true answers to.
Like, what actually happened to Draco Malfoy?
The beast kicked up some soft Earth, loosening the soil with his sharp claws before thrusting his body to the ground, rolling in the dirt to cover his gleaming white fur. The best way to survive in the Forest was to stay out of sight. For most creatures, the dark shadows offered much protection, but the wolf's coloring was only highlighted by the contrasting landscape, making it that much more difficult to remain hidden.
The ground shook; something was coming this way. A current of air tickled across his spine, the leaves of bushes that lined the twisting path bent with it, offering him shelter. The wolf crouched amongst the darkness, astutely perceiving the threat headed his way. A dog jogged gleefully down the Forest path, plants bending to avoid being trampled by the elephant-sized beast. It seemed to be chasing after something. The wolf sulked through the shadows behind it, eager to find out what.
Twists and turns on the winding path found him back where he had started an hour prior; the smell of wildflowers and — was that vanilla? — guided him forward, mind wondering who in the hell would have given that wretched dog a bath. The wolf padded through the brush of the Forest, making his way to the graveside of the water, aiming to get a closer look. One glance from the trees revealed one of his recent nightmares had come true.
She's found her.
It would have only been a matter of time, of course. With Granger in the wood, no stone would be left unturned, no secret safe from the inquisitive mind of the lioness. The wolf watched from a distance across the Reflecting Pond as the witch knelt before the wooden grave, clad in funeral clothes and tears pouring from her eyes. He wrinkled his nose, angry that she was mourning here, but became even more furious when the wretched dog sidled up behind her, close enough to sniff her hair.
It would have been easier to walk away, to let Granger deal with it all on her own, but some unknown force enacted upon him and he found himself inching toward the edge of the treeline, poised to attack… to protect. It was an unfamiliar sensation, one he hadn't felt in a few years. In fact, most human emotion had been all but forgotten, atrophied by their blatant disuse. But once the witch came to the wood, things had started to feel different… he had started to feel different. A human presence in the wood had forced him to step back into a part of himself that he hadn't touched in over two years, the part he swore was dead forever — and perhaps, he reminded himself, that's how it should remain.
His body was ready to spring forward at a moment's notice, not a conscious thought as to what he might do if an altercation would ensue. The wolf thirsted for blood and tearing flesh… but then, the witch began to sing. The sound was a bit flat and slightly off-key, but the words were melodic, entrancing even. But what sounded like a love song to start quickly turned into something more ominous. To him it almost sounded like a warning; it was like…
She knows, she must know.
The wolf began to back away then, eager to distance himself from the witch that posed a serious threat to his safety and secrecy, despite whatever initial instinct told him to protect her. It had been so long since he had felt anything remotely human that it was clouding his judgment, blurring the line in his mind between the human and the wolf. The wolf knew how to stay safe, the wolf did what he had to do to survive.
But the human in him? He was a damn fool. A pathetic, bleeding heart fool.
He stopped, chancing a glance backward in the direction of the Reflecting Pond and cocking his head to one side. What if she died? And what if it could have been prevented had he only been willing to help? Was he ready to have even more lives on his newly reawakened conscience?
The song of the witch danced among the trees and the wolf sat for a moment, head cocked to the side, eyes closing as he savored every note he heard. He was enraptured by her sound, only snapping from his hypnosis as her singing grew louder and the witch broke through the trees, her words faltering when she spotted him.
She kept singing, which he took as very strange as he expected her to immediately attack. Every hair on his body stood at erect attention, her use of the word tail made him extremely uneasy. He could sense her animosity before he noticed her reaching for her wand. But when he did notice, his heart gripped with sudden fear and he let out a scared whine — everyone knew how powerful Hermione Granger was and he certainly didn't want to find himself on the receiving end of one of her curses.
The wolf remained seated, despite every ounce of its instinct screaming to run. He just felt so drawn to her, the positive pole to his negative. He cocked his head to the other side, studying her as she spun her wand hypnotically. Bright blue light flew from her wand tip, aimed at him — a not so subtle reminder that she too was a threat to him, not some innocent who needed protecting.
Instinct moved his muscles and the wolf jumped out of the way, the rush of her magic ruffling his long fur. His gaze hardened, glaring at the witch menacingly. That spell, if he weren't mistaken, was a clear indication that she knew what he was. A bigger question, however, remained. Did she know who he was as well?
Granger brought her wand across her body in a vicious slash. The wolf felt a pain cut through his shoulder cuff, like a hot blade being plunged through the joint and muscle, which sent him skittering backward once more. A tree branch fell from above, hitting the spot where he had just stood with a crunch. A loud whistling of wind alerted him to the shifting of the forest before him, his eyes growing wide as he watched a cluster of leaves swing out from the canopy and hit the witch on the back of her head.
He wished to cackle obnoxiously at the sight of fluffy-headed Granger, singing a tune in the middle of the wood whilst taking a beating by trees. Other circumstances would have allowed him to make endless jokes about this, but he would save the material for later as a way to entertain himself to pass the time as, presently, there was no time to spare. This was his opportunity; the time was now.
Run.
Paws beat against soft Earth, not a thought to their landing as the creature sprinted through the familiar winding of trees. It was difficult, even for him with superb hearing, to discern if the snapping of twigs echoing in the wood were from his own feet or if she had been brave enough – rather, foolish enough – to follow him. He could only assume the latter, propelling himself forward, every fiber of his muscles burning with exertion.
She's coming, she's after me.
The words repeated in his head like a mantra, the will to survive driving him forward faster than a human could possibly run, and yet she remained close behind him.
Too close.
A flash of blue shot forth from her wand, only intensifying his desire to escape. A second came moments later, grazing a few hairs on his tail, and tugging at the human form in his mind. But he was practiced, strong enough to fight against it; his humanity too weak to take over the beast that was him, even with the boost of nearby magic.
Six years of relative safety only to have it jeopardized a mere week after the Golden Girl stepped foot in his wood. Any beast with half a mind had hardly paid him any attention before, seemingly content to remain distant as if kept at bay by some unknown force. It was strange, but he had always felt safe, protected, in the forest… Until now.
He started weaving in and out of the trees, more agile than a witch on foot and hopefully sly enough to escape her.
She's coming, she's coming, she's after me.
He heard her stumble behind him which he took as an opportunity to break from the treeline, seeking the only spot in the Forest that was truly safe for him in all his forms.
It was stupid, really; a decision made out of blind panic. A coward's instinct to run home to his hiding spot, safe from the wrath of Granger's wand. It was foolish to lead her straight to his den, but the riskier choice would have been to try and lose her in the Forest; too many factors were at play out there.
Hold, hold, hold.
An unspoken prayer as the wolf panted while finding a large item that he could hide behind just in case years of use had fatigued the wards.
In the Forest, between the beasts, it was 'kill or be killed.' There was a balance that was kept, but it didn't apply to witches and wizards. Animalistic instincts would allow him to kill, but the wood would not be permissive to see more magical blood spilled on her soil. It was something he understood the ramifications of and it was a line he didn't wish to cross. But he would be lying to say he hadn't considered it since she first spotted him in the woods.
The wolf let out a low growl as the shadow of the witch fell over the opening of the den. So if it wasn't 'kill or be killed,' it would have to be fight or flee; a situation the beast hoped to have never found himself in. He knew – hoped, prayed – that she couldn't see or hear him and that his wards were still strong after all this time, but the fear of discovery and attack remained.
She's here, she's found me.
Purple light cascaded at the entrance, rattling the wards, and a small whine escaped the beast's throat. A blinding brightness caused him to flinch back, eyes closed, bracing himself.
This is it, surely the end.
He dared not breathe, waiting for a stinging, burning, or otherwise bloody painful sensation to reach him. He imagined how she would haul him out of the woods, straight to the Ministry or worse to Saint Potter himself. From there it would be a slow, torturous march to the Dementor's Kiss… his death just another win for the side of good.
But then… nothing came.
I'm safe…?
Silver-blue eyes glanced cautiously toward the ceiling entrance of its home, widening with fear as the witch tumbled in from up above, landing on the dirt floor with a hard thud. The wolf remained still, waiting for her to cry, to move, to attack- but no noise came.
I'm fucked.
Hermione awoke, tucked safely under a quilt on the cot in her tent. When she recognized her consciousness, she jerked upright, her hands patting her body for evidence of harm. She was entirely intact, completely fine save for a splitting headache threatening to tear her skull in two. Upon standing she discovered she was still in the outfit she had worn to the memorial, but her nylons had been shredded in places, red abrasions marking the creamy skin beneath. Her dress was in a similar state, with bits of mud splashed across her entire body.
A shaking hand ran through her curls, pulling leaves and a small stick out of the knotted mess of hair and letting them drop to the floor of the tent. She watched them fall, one of the leaves coming to a rest atop the hiking boot on her right foot. She frowned: she would have never gotten into bed with any shoes on, let alone hiking boots caked in mud.
Her hand drifted down then, her stomach sinking into a pit when she discovered her mothers' necklace was missing. Hermione bent to check the cot for the item but was met with a pain that shot through her neck and shoulders. Why did her head hurt so bad? She tried to remember, gripping her forehead as she staggered to the kitchenette to brew a pot of tea and take an aspirin.
Her movements were lazy and it took her several charms to heat the kettle, her exhaustion making her magic unreliable. She leaned against the counter, wiping sleep from her eyes as she waited for the whistling of steam.
A peek past the tent flap revealed the sun was setting, which Hermione thought was strange. She could recall watching the sunset from the mountain after attending the memorial… how had she gotten back home? Hermione remembered the service, unsuccessfully chasing after the wolf and then hiking to the forest boundary (which explained the boots), but after she watched the sunset from the mountain top, her memory became a bit hazy.
The kettle shouted and she quickly made a strong cup of Earl Gray. Hermione held the warm mug between her hands, closing her eyes and she breathed in the warm steam, blowing it away to cool the surface of the liquid with every exhale. She let her mind fall to its occluded state, where it might be easier to piece together the gap in her memory without the onslaught of memories that had been in the forefront of her mind: of battle, the fallen, or her parents.
A few sips of tea had her feeling less groggy, the heat of the liquid running down her throat reminiscent of the hot breaths of a three-headed dog that had run down her spine what felt like only hours ago. The sensation tugged her mind toward a particular group of memories, recollections of events jumping off the carefully cataloged bookshelf in her mind.
The tome Hermione called forth from the shelf was lavender, the word 'Mother' written on it in an elegant script. She let the pages display before her: the grave she had found at the reflective pond, the wildflowers that laid before it. She watched herself, much like a film or wizarding photograph, stabilizing the primitive cross and transfiguring a vase from a rock while blue and red lights flickered in the background, her grief overlaying the visual recounting of events.
The page turned and there was Fluffy behind her; Hermione shivered at the thought, taking another greedy sip of tea. It was the most unexpected encounter she would have thought she'd have in the forbidden forest; so much so that a part of her wondered if she dreamt the whole thing. It would make sense if it were all a dream. That would be an easy, acceptable answer that Hermione would have no problem dismissing. She could have felt sad after the memorial, dozed off in her tent, and dreamed of the grave, grief-stricken and lonely. Fluffy must have been just a manifestation of how angry she felt, his form being called forth from the little girl inside her who desperately missed her Mum.
But that wasn't the case, Hermione knew. The tears in her nylons and the pounding of her head told a different story, one in which she serenaded the three-headed dog into sleep before running into the woods where she was met by another predator, the one she had been after all along. On the next page, in uncomfortable detail, stood the figure that had menaced her mind since her first night in the Forbidden Forest.
A large, predatorial-looking, white wolf; Hermione's grip on her teacup tightened. She watched, blue flashes of light flying out of her wand again and again as she chased after it around bends in the winding path. But the wolf had stayed just that, meaning either none of her spells had hit her mark or the beast was just that: a wolf. The alabaster beast ran out of frame as the image of Hermione tripped over a swooping tree limb. The book page turned and her head pounded as her mind neared the moments right before her memory gap.
The beast was cornered. Hermione looked triumphant as she crept up to the tree, ready and looking for a fight with a silver blade in one hand, and her wand in the other. She had thought she was so clever at that moment by making the first move with a shot of purple from her wand. Hubris allowed her to believe that she could achieve the impossible, but also served to make her vulnerable to miscalculation… allowing her to place false faith in something that deserved a second thought. Her curse hadn't hit the wolf, it instead concentrated, a furious ball of energy, before rebounding back at a shocked Hermione. And then… everything went black, the book slamming shut.
Her head pounded again as she plucked apart the memory, trying to make sense of it all. She was trying to stun the beast, and if how she felt was any indication, it seemed she had only succeeded in stunning herself; her headache throbbed in agreement. Ok, one mystery solved – she had been knocked out — but the realization begged the question: how the hell did she get back here, to her tent in the Moon-Gazer Clearing? Hermione set her teacup in the sink, shaking her head to break her occlusion.
Hermione eyed her surroundings suspiciously, looking for a hint as to how she had found herself here when the last thing she remembered was the showdown at the barren oak tree. A quick inspection of the room showed that things were quite amiss. Trunks where she kept supplies were open, their broken locks scattered on the floor. With a passing glance, she couldn't tell what had been taken, but the unorganized state of the contents indicated that it had, indeed, been rifled through. Both the container that housed her food and the cooler she used for perishables had been completely emptied, their empty caverns mocking her rumbling stomach.
The table in the middle of the tent was a mess of parchment, broken pens and ink that swirled into a pool of spilled water, and shattered glass. She saw that her coat had been hung from the back of a folding chair at the table, which was not the place it was usually kept. Her body tensed when she noticed it was covered in bits of white fur. She crossed the room in a flash, ripping the coat off the chair and throwing it to the ground near the entrance of the tent.
Tossing her coat had revealed her leather bag, right where she had left it. A small flicker of hope ignited within her at the prospect that it might be undisturbed, but said spark was quickly extinguished when Hermione sifted through the contents wildly, muttering curses as she discovered much of her supplies had been raided. Anything that had been left in the bag she haphazardly threw in random directions, frantically itemizing her belongings. Her sneakoscope, a batch of strengthening potion, and the enchanted draw-from-memory quill were among the items missing.
She let the empty bag fall to the floor, her sense of control dropping with it. Hermione sank onto the folding chair, covering her eyes with her palms. A few choked sobs escaped her and she hardly felt bits of glass bite into her elbows when she leaned on the table, tears threatening to fall from her lashes. It felt like a nightmare, akin to those she suffered since the war.
Parchment crinkled under her weight, which she peeked at through a crack between fingers. When she saw the ripped, soaked fibers that had once been her map of the Forbidden Forest, she let her head fall to the table and tears rolled down her cheeks. Her map, the one she had been so proud of, the one she'd used daily since coming to the forest, was completely ruined. Drying charms were able to remove the moisture, but there was nothing Hermione could do to remedy the ink that ran haphazardly over the parchment; all words and markings completely washed away.
After a moment of lamenting, Hermione tightened her resolve, refusing to let another setback defeat her. She figured she better write down everything that happened while the details were still fresh — and she would need plenty of time to reconstruct her map before something else could happen and distract her again. Hermione found her field journal on the floor under the table, where it must have fallen during her frantic bag unpacking. Paging through the book for a blank part, Hermione found that several of the pages — pages in which she had made notes and theorized about the wolf, specifically — had been ripped out.
Emotions flared upon discovering this and she threw the book across the tent, letting out an angry squeal in the process. Her rage was quickly doused with fear that ran down her spine with an icy chill as she spotted dark markings on the back of the journal she'd just held. Hermione dropped to the floor, scrambling over to the book and picking it up with shaking hands.
There was a message, a warning, written in bold black writing, screaming at her from the taupe binding:
Stay away, Granger.