A/n...This story takes place in a slight AU where Moody survived the Night of The Seven Potters.
Chapter 1
A bit of Madness in the spring
The air was very quiet, and humid in the last of the days light, bathing everything in a hazy golden sunlight, that, under more pleasant circumstances, would have drawn forth feelings of calm and easiness in Hermione. But she was not in more pleasant circumstances, so all it did was serve to mark the passing of time. The late April breeze picked up the smell of dirt and singed hair and tickled Hermione's nose with it, mixing with the smell of her own body odor and sweat, making her feel completely filthy and grounding into her how heavy the weight of this task was.
Oh, sodd off! she thought angrily, swatting at a determined mosquito that kept landing on her exposed shoulders. She extended her wand slowly and confidently recited "Amato Animo Animato Animagus!" while touching her wand to her heart.
Although the sky above her seemed calm, with only a few dark clouds slinking along the horizon, she knew a thunderstorm was forming somewhere in the east and would be moving this way shortly. She guessed about five hours from now, maybe six if the storm felt like teasing her. Her bushy hair was being kept out of her face in a lose ponytail, but that didn't stop fly-aways from dancing around the pallid flesh of her face. She had dark circles under her eyes, and her jumper was fraying on both sleeves.
A brown shimmery string shot out of her wand, and circled her shoulders, disappearing as it touched her. I wish I knew if that was a good sign. I wish McGonagall was here. I wish Harry was alive. I wish I could see my parents. As soon as she thought the first wish, the rest came spilling out of her, and she didn't have enough time to steel her heart against them before tears welled in her eyes. I wish Tom Riddle had never been born. I wish I was at the burrow, eating some of Molly's shepherd's pie. I wish I knew where Ron was being kept. I wish- Oh grow up Hermione! Be in the now! She snapped her eyes shut angrily and snapped her wand against her leg.
It wouldn't do any good to dwell on the wishes she kept near and dear to her heart. It wasn't healthy to distract her away from this behemoth of a task in front of her, and the sooner she finished, the closer she may be to having at least some of her wishes come true.
She sat down suddenly, leaning her back against one of the tall oak trees that were growing haphazardly all around her. She reached into her bag and pulled out a hunk of bread wrapped in wax paper. Even though it was a small hunk of bread, it weighed heavy in her small, dirty hand. She had apparated into the eastern American coast about three days ago and was hiding somewhere in Virginia. She had gone into a couple of markets stealing a bit of food under the invisibility cloak now and then, but she had no money to drop, and the guilt was getting to her. She swept her eyes out over the meadow in front of her, and its perimeter of trees. She slumped her shoulders and sighed. She was in America, in dirty clothes, in desperate need of a shower, attempting a magic ritual that wizards and witches far more powerful and educated than her had failed at. It was madness. A little madness in the spring, she thought wryly, recalling an old Emily Dickinson poem she had read a lifetime ago, before she had gotten her Hogwarts letter.
If all goes well tonight, I will be back in London by this time next week and I can try to meet up with Ginny and Neville. It will be fine. I can do this. I WILL do this, she thought determinedly, as she nibbled at the stale bread in her hand. Once she finished, she folded the wax paper and put it back into her bag.
Digging her nails into the ground and closing her eyes she tried to center herself. She needed self-discipline now, and she needed to be one with her magic. Closing her eyes always seemed to enhance her unease, though. Being on the run and being a part of a war for so long robs you of things. Being able to find self-peace seemed to be one of them for Hermione. Any time she closed her eyes she was met with images she didn't want to see.
She glanced up and was startled to see that the sky had been carpeted in dark clouds while she had sat on the ground. "Oh, thank Merlin," she said somberly, shuddering at the thought of carrying another mandrake leaf in her mouth for a month if there wasn't a storm to complete the ritual. I hope this works. I hope if it works, I turn into something more practical than an otter... Hermione let that thought trail off. She knew McGonagall's Patronus was a cat, and Lupins was a wolf, so it would be fitting that hers would be an otter. If she was able to pull this off, that is. But she didn't see how an otter would be practical for sneaking into the forbidden forest and would certainly look suspicious to have an otter running around Diagon Ally, with no close water sources. She had been trying now for 6 months to become an Animagus, and to say it had been an uphill battle was an understatement. To become one, she needed to make a potion that, among some of her hair, a Death Heads moth, and dew that had not seen sunlight for 7 days, included the leaf from a mandrake that had to be kept in her mouth for a month. She had swallowed the first one, accidentally spit out the second, was unable to find another mandrake plant for two months after that one, and when her and Ron were finally able to locate another, Ron was captured by a death eater while Hermione ran off. Her heart panged a little as she remembered Ron's panic-stricken face as he pushed Hermione forward and told her to run.
"Hermione, go, please-go you stubborn woman!" He had yelled as A hooded death eater pulled his wand out and started sending out hexes.
And go she had. She ran about ten feet forward, glanced back at Ron, who was pulling his wand out, and apparated to the first place that popped into her head. She didn't want to think about that now though, the memory was a noose around her heart that was tighter every time she brought it to mind. Despite her pact with Ron, that they would do whatever was necessary to keep hope alive and keep the battle going- even if that meant abandoning the other- she felt an enormous amount of guilt at having left him. She missed him. She missed harry. She missed them all, and sometimes her grief was so deep she felt she would drown in it, felt she would become nothing but a girl so waterlogged with sadness that light would cease to exist, and she would melt into the loss of the world around her. But then she would remember the first time she produced a corporeal Patronus, or her first kiss shared with Ron. Memories of Ginny, and Luna, and Molly Weasley would float in and out of her mind and she would feel a little revived, and bit less waterlogged. She glanced up to see how dark the world around had grown, as if reflecting her own inner mechanisms.
"Thank Merlin," Hermione said and she stood up, pulling her bag up with her. She noticed her hand was shaking as she reached in and found the bottle of potion she was looking for. It was a dark muddy color, that seemed to be in constant motion. When she uncorked the bottle, her nose was met with such a familiar smell that she recoiled from the feeling of nostalgia and yearning that came with it. It smells like Hogwarts owlery! She thought in awe. Or am I just going crazy hoping for any connection to better times? Maybe it just smells like owl poop and musty feathers.
She reined her thoughts back in and wandered out into the open field. With the potion in one hand, and her wand in the other, she recited the incantation again. The wand tip pointed at her heart grew hot as she drank the potion, which tasted as musty as it smelled. The potion itself was hot and burned on its way down. Slowly, Hermione's body became warm, starting from her throat and flowing to her toes. She blinked a few times and felt the world growing hazy and distorted around her.
All the forest sounds that had been in full swing around her seemed to die. No bird noises, no cicada's rhythm, she saw lightning strike but there was no thunderclap to accompany it- not even the leaves blowing in the blossoming storm seemed to be generating any sound. Hermione's vision grew dark and strained as she felt her knees starting to bend and her body start to crumple down towards the earth.
I've botched it somehow. Please don't let me die! She thought wildly into the universe while her consciousness started to seep away. As her eyes closed the sounds of the forest slowly started to resurface, and above her the thunderstorm raged on. Fat, cold rain drops fell on her small figure and lightning cracked through the sky. Thunder roared across the landscape, as big as life itself, and one small, and she lay in the center of a long-forgotten meadow. The wind blew her hair loose from band holding it in place and a few tawny feathers seemed to be poking out of the wild tresses.