Chapter 1: Misty Skies and Mist Colored Eyes

It was a cool, cloudy fall day.

Or at least, it had been the last time Hermione Granger had been conscious.

Unfortunately, her body was now awkwardly splayed out on a lump of sparse grass next to a rather thick tree root, curling out of the damp earth. Her head had been mere inches from hitting it, and the two strangers standing over her were thankful for small miracles when they realized.

Then, they started arguing.

Around that time, Hermione began to regain consciousness, settling into a sort of self-awareness that started in her toes. She could wiggle them, but they felt impossibly stiff and cold as if she had been lying prone for a prolonged period of time. Which, a small part of her conscious surmised, was probably true.

From there, she realized her legs were bent awkwardly as if they had given out before the rest of her. Her knees were jerked to the side, leaving an almost painful twinge in her right knee. They would definitely be sore when she stood up.

Moving further up her body, she became aware of the chill of the earth under her, particularly under her bum. It was slowly soaking through her hiking pants, generating an uncomfortable feeling of cold and dampness through the fabric. In fact, upon focusing on it, she wasn't even sure if she could feel her backside or if the skin was entirely numb. How long had she been lying there?

There was dirt under her hands, in her nails. She slowly swirled one finger in it, eyes still closed. She was alive at least and with all her extremities still intact. Her brain catalogued that under 'Good News' and moved onto further questions, such as why am I lying on the ground?

As she mulled over things, it all started coming back to her. She had been out solo hiking, not too far out of London. The woods had grown foggy, but she'd liked that sense of losing herself in the mist, so she hadn't let it deter her.

Streams of light had then started breaking through the fog, thin strands shooting like lightning before disappearing just as fast. Ignoring any sense of safety, she had wandered closer, inspecting. Hermione considered herself an intelligent woman and figured there had to be a perfectly good reason for such an occurrence.

Then, she had been hit by one.

That was the last she remembered.

Having finally retrieved what little memories she had of the event, she decided she might as well open her eyes and get on with the rest of it. The voices were still arguing somewhere near her in a low tone, impossible to make out words. Two men, from the sound of their tenor.

Hermione opened her eyes, wincing at the light of day and the swirling colors hovering over her body. She wondered if welcoming herself back to the world of the living was such a good idea after all, because nothing in front of her made sense. It was as if her body was emitting a low-level frequency of light, one over her ribs and another near her head. They wavered slightly but seemed to be leaning toward green. Green for good, she hoped.

There was no discernible reason the light should be there. Hermione gently moved her head from side to side, looking around. There were no projectors, nothing that indicated there was a source.

It was truly disconcerting.

Her head also hurt like a mother. Once she had opened her eyes, it felt like her skull was splitting in half.

Then she refocused on the men. They both cut an imposing figure, clearly taller and broader than her. It was like looking at the sun and moon; they couldn't be more opposite. The taller man had a shock of white-blond hair curling elegantly against his brow. It was haughty and perfectly in style, accentuating the aristocratic cut of his face. She could only see his side profile, but he seemed cut from marble. He had broad shoulders but a lean figure, not lanky at all. She imagined there would be sinewy muscles under his coat.

She looked down at herself. Muddy, wrinkled, probably twigs in her unruly hair. Lovely.

The second man was the opposite. Not as tall but bulkier, with a wild air about him. He had messy, red hair that looked as if he had been running his fingers through it. His skin was warmed by the sun but stained with freckles. Even from the ground, she could tell his eyes were bright blue. He looked like someone who showed every emotion on his face, and right then he was definitely showing anger.

She watched him curl a hand into a fist. The taller man flicked his eyes at it but otherwise didn't give in. He seemed almost coldly detached from the entire situation.

Hermione suddenly became very aware of her predicament. She was a lone woman, clearly incapacitated. Her heart began racing, and she immediately tried to determine escape routes. Brute forcing her way out by fist fighting was not an option, not just because she had never punched anyone but also because those men could probably throw a punch harder than her.

Okay what next, she thought, readjusting her perception of the situation. They were so engrossed in her conversation that she could roll over and make a run for it. Her car was in a carpark at the trailhead not far from there. All she needed was to be quick and agile for a little over a mile.

Hermione grimaced. She was more likely to trip over a tree root and knock herself out, possibly for the second time.

As she mentally cataloged her strengths and cross-referenced them with potential escape ideas, eyes cast toward the sky in concentration, a gasp caught her attention.

She hadn't meant to look right away; she had meant to steel herself and her expression before facing her possible captors. Unfortunately, her body looked before her head caught up.

They were staring at her, though with wildly different expressions. The taller, pale one looked borderline murderous, and she could now see he had eyes as gray as the mist around them- beautiful but intense. He had his arms crossed in a stance of offhanded confidence. If either one of them was going to stab her, she guessed it was 100 to 1 that he would land the final blow, and he would enjoy every second of it.

Hermione tried to scrunch up her face in outrage, but it was lost on the situation. They had already seen her looking shocked and, most likely, scared. This was a second blow to her ego.

The other man looked absolutely appalled, his eyes wide with terror- the kind of fear someone has before they get caught doing something they shouldn't.

"Fuck" he exhaled, staring down at her.

"Well, she's alive. There goes my idea," the icy one said.

Hermione felt like it was her turn to speak, but she couldn't think of anything to say, which was a first. Up until this situation, she had been someone with an endless supply of thoughts on nearly every subject. She enjoyed soaking up knowledge like an infinite sponge and expelling it out in every situation as if those around her held the same deep-seated thirst. Unfortunately, they usually didn't.

She cleared her throat, twitching her right hand and then attempting to lift her upper half. The second she made natural movement, it felt like her skull had been blasted with a shotgun.

"Eungh," she moaned unintentionally, sinking back down. There was now a rapidly rising urge to vomit crawling up her esophagus. Blast it all.

The men didn't give her a second chance.

"Well, time to end this," the icy one intoned as if he was already bored. He pulled out what looked like a fancy stick, made out of dark wood and thicker on one end, ending in a point on the other. He stuck the thinner end at her and opened his mouth.

"No!" shouted the shorter man, face reddening. "Malfoy, we can't just leave her here," he whined.

Malfoy turned a smoky eye to the side but didn't bother replying.

Hermione felt her heart beating out of her chest. Was this it? Was it all over? A horrible sinking feeling enveloped her; she clawed her fingers into the dirt. Could she run, could she fight, what if she –

"Obliviate!"

It hit her straight between the eyes. She was out cold for the second time.

Hermione woke up on the ground, stomach down. Gravel shifted under her body, and bile rose in her throat. A soft arm pulled her hair back and checked her pulse.

"Hey," a woman spoke, rousing her. "Are you alright?"

Hermione groaned and looked up. Half her body was in the grass and the other half on hard ground, at the edge of the car park.

"Bloody hell," a man behind her murmured. "Should we take her to A&E?"

The woman at her side looked worryingly down at her. "Dear, you must've passed out. Do you know what happened?"

Hermione blinked at her, confused.

Yes, that's what probably happened, she probably passed out of her own accord. She must not have drunk enough water or eaten enough for breakfast.

But all she could think about was the strange men, the hovering lights, and a wand-ishly looking piece of wood pointed right at her.

When she made it home later that night, sore and much worse for wear, it was silver eyes she saw behind her own.