The mist hung in the air, and as she slowly walked down the completely deserted street, fear and despair began to swell in her chest. She tried to see ahead, to reach somewhere, but it felt like she was drowning in the endless grey. The air grew thinner with every step she took, and soon her lungs wouldn't be able to take it anymore.
It was when she reached a crossroads, with buildings that seemed to touch the sky, that her mouth opened. She recognized the woman lying on one of the sidewalks, bleeding as if she had been stabbed multiple times. Her heart raced, and before she knew it, her legs were carrying her quickly toward the woman, stumbling over her own feet. She knelt beside the dark-haired woman, desperately trying to stop the bleeding, as groans of pain escaped her.
"Mum?" she whispered in anguish.
Tears streamed down her face, soaking her cheeks. She stopped her futile attempts to stop the bleeding and pulled the woman's face closer to hers. Sobbing, she caressed her mother's face.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't want to leave you. I didn't want to... I thought you'd be safe…"
"Hermione?" she heard the familiar male voice behind her and lifted her head to see the slender man staring at her in disbelief.
"Dad!" she sobbed, more tears falling down her face, which she wiped away with the back of her hand.
"What have you done?" the man demanded, his voice rising.
He crouched down, shoving Hermione roughly aside. Still sobbing, she moved closer to him, ignoring his previous outburst. But before she could speak, the man turned to her.
"This is your fault," he accused, his voice raised.
Speechless, Hermione stared at her father. Her heart pounded even faster, her stomach churned, and her head throbbed. Her thoughts were a chaotic mess, trying to understand how she had ended up there, but her mind was still clouded by fear and guilt.
"It's your fault," he repeated in a whisper, tears streaming down his face as he turned to embrace the woman's body.
Hermione watched the scene in front of her fade away like smoke, leaving only the oppressive grey and the emptiness in her chest.
Still kneeling, she placed her hands on her head and let the tears fall more freely as she screamed in agony.
Gasping for air, Hermione forced herself to wake up from the nightmare, but the shadows in her mind didn't fully clear. She opened her eyes abruptly, staring at the wooden ceiling. Her breathing was erratic, and her skin burned beneath the blanket. She slowly turned her head, seeing the dark, old wooden walls and the small window where raindrops pelted hard against the glass. The sky outside was grey, casting a dim light into the room.
Hermione Granger sat up in bed, making the springs creak, and took a closer look at the room. It would have been empty if not for a small wardrobe, the bed, which resembled a hospital bed, and a dusty table beside it. To the right of the bed, a half-open door, missing its handle, indicated the bathroom.
She rubbed her eyes, trying to organize her thoughts. Her last clear memory was of pain—Bellatrix's curse—and a vague sensation of cold. Confusion overwhelmed her, and her mind felt sluggish, struggling to piece together fragmented memories.
She stood up, feeling the cold floor beneath her feet, and took slow steps toward the bathroom. She fully opened the door and, to her surprise, found it was incredibly clean. The mirror above the sink reflected her disheveled hair, as if it hadn't been combed in days, her pale complexion, and her dry lips. Only then did she notice what she was wearing. She tore her gaze from the mirror and looked down at herself. The beige nightgown resembled something from an old movie, and she wondered who had dressed her that way.
She returned to the room and searched for her wand among the blankets and bed, but found nothing. Her stomach twisted, and fear gripped her chest as she realized her wand was gone. She had no idea where she was or how she had gotten there, and without her wand, she felt more vulnerable than ever, like any shadow could take her life at any moment.
Standing by the bed, she looked at the other door in the room—old, with an intact round golden handle. She walked toward it slowly, trying not to make any noise. Before she could reach for the handle, the door creaked open on its own. Startled again, Hermione took a few more steps and peeked her head out of the room, getting a better view of her surroundings. She saw a long corridor with several doors lining the wooden walls on both sides. The hallway seemed far too long for a simple cabin, and many of the doors were missing their handles, which only heightened her sense of unease.
Quietly, she stepped out of the room, but froze when the floorboards creaked loudly under her foot. She sighed in frustration, expecting someone to appear and drag her back, but strangely, nothing happened. She needed to figure out where she was and who had brought her there. For a brief moment, she wondered if she was dead.
Once again, she walked slowly, the wooden floor creaking with every step she took. When she reached the end of the corridor, she found a steep staircase. She descended, still cautious of the place, and looked around the room she had entered. It was small and warm. In one corner sat a small, old three-seater sofa, and across from it, an old television, which probably didn't work, rested on a shabby little shelf. Among the objects, a dirty green round rug lay on the floor.
There was no one there, and the only window showed that outside, the rain was still falling, heavier than when she had woken up. She kept walking, hoping to find something to help her figure out where she was and who had brought her here, but she froze when she heard a voice from the other side of the room. Hermione completed her steps toward the archway, her heart racing and her breath shaky. The sound of raindrops hitting the glass echoed through the room, heightening her sense of isolation and impending danger.
When she saw him with his back turned to her, doing something in front of an old stove, she gasped quietly, stopping at the entrance. Maybe it was the shock of seeing him there, or the even bigger surprise—he was the one who had brought her here, the one who had saved her from Bellatrix's hands. The angel she thought was leading her to a better place was, in fact, him.
"Surprised, Granger?" he asked coldly, not even bothering to look over his shoulder.
Hermione didn't respond.
Her heart leaped at the sound of Draco Malfoy's voice, the last person she expected to find in this place. She should have felt relieved not to be alone, but his presence only deepened her fear. The thought that he was the one who had brought her here, defying his family and Voldemort, sent chills down her spine. Her only question was: why?
Draco, with his usual arrogant stance, exuding disdain, turned to face her, leaning against the stove.
"Here's the deal, Mudblood," he continued in a harsh voice, his expression serious. "Don't talk. Don't touch anything, especially not me. And most importantly, don't act like a know-it-all."
Hermione's blood boiled at the insult. She wanted to snap back, to scream that she would never touch him, to ask why he had brought her here, where Harry and Ron were, if they had managed to escape Malfoy Manor alive. But she remained silent. The thought that her friends might still be there, being tortured as she had been—or worse—made her heart ache.
"Your room is to the left of the library. Go there like a good little rat and leave me alone," he finished rudely.
Draco turned back to the stove, ignoring her presence.
She took a step forward but felt far from comfortable following his orders. She glanced around the rest of the kitchen: beside the stove was a small, ancient refrigerator, like everything there; the sink dripped continuously, producing a noise that Hermione found irritating; a cupboard hung above it; and in one corner stood a dark wooden table with only three chairs.
"Where's my wand? And my clothes..."
"Did you hear anything I just said?" he interrupted, his voice sharp and irritated. "Shut up, Granger, before I regret what I did."
Hermione turned away from him, exhausted, deciding to go back to the room she had come from, but before she could take a step, she stopped and turned back to him.
"I didn't ask you for anything, Malfoy," she began, her voice raised. "So don't give me this 'don't make me regret it' crap because leaving me to die where I was would've been doing me a favor. Anything is better than being stuck here with you." She finished, turning away, not waiting for a response or reaction.
Instead of heading back to the room, Hermione walked quickly toward a door she noticed for the first time. It was right in front of the staircase, and it seemed the round handle could be broken with just a twist. She had to try to get out of there, even if it cost her life. She couldn't bear to stay any longer, worried about her friends and about him.
She took long, hurried steps, turning the fragile handle carefully and descending the few wooden steps outside the house. Her feet hit the muddy ground, with the wet earth squishing between her toes, while the cold, heavy raindrops soaked her through.
She kept running, her heart pounding and her breath fast, when the trees started to appear, forming a vast forest. The trees around her seemed to close in, their long, dark shadows dancing on the wet ground like hands ready to grab her. The forest's darkness deepened, making her stumble several times, and then she saw the dense trees give way to a large lake. The lake ahead seemed to pulse with strange energy, its dark waters reflecting the lightning with an eerie glow, as though it hid ancient and dangerous secrets. It was colder there, she realized. The rain still beating against her skin felt like burning ice.
At that moment, Hermione felt something wrap around her waist, stopping her from running any further. Desperately, she tried to scream, but a hand clamped over her mouth. She was pulled back hard, feeling a body press against hers from behind. She still couldn't see who it was until she heard the furious whisper in her ear:
"Shut up, you idiot girl!" Draco's rough, broken voice sent chills down her spine, both from the proximity and the cold breeze in her ear.
He dragged her forcefully to a corner, where they crouched behind the thick trunk of a fallen tree, with her still trapped in his arms. The rain poured down harder, and the thunder cracked in the overcast sky. The forest was lit now and then by nearby lightning strikes. Hermione felt her clothes sticking to her body, and the soft wind brushing against her skin made her shiver. Draco's hand was still over her mouth, and his body was still pressed against hers. She wept in despair.
"Granger, shut up!" Malfoy hissed, but Hermione only silenced herself when she heard footsteps approaching them.
Each second brought the sound closer. They were just meters away.
"I'm sure I heard something over here," a deep, gruff voice said. Hermione was certain they were only a few steps away.
"Doubt it," replied another, less deep and even rougher voice. "Hardly anyone knows about this place except the Dark Lord's followers, and those who do wouldn't come here."
The other scoffed, clearly irritated by his companion's stupidity.
Hermione's breathing quickened, and her heart pounded harder with each step they took. Draco held her tighter against him, his hand pressing harder over her mouth.
"I don't know if you remember, McNair, but we have a new Regulus among us," one of them said, his voice dripping with disdain. "I'll personally have the pleasure of killing him, whether he's Lucius's son or not."
She felt Draco's body tense up against her.
One of them laughed.
"I always suspected the boy; I don't understand why it took so long."
"The Malfoys know where to place their bets. Lucius knew the boy lacked the resolve for this. And now look at him…" he laughed. "Hiding from us like a coward."
The footsteps grew distant, along with their laughter.
Draco Malfoy was still holding her. Hermione trembled even more from the biting cold. The blond released her abruptly, shoving her away. She caught herself with her hands in the mud to avoid hitting her face and let out a cry of pain. Malfoy stood up, seemingly unfazed by the cold or rain, and began walking back to the house, leaving her behind.
Hermione's skin prickled and her stomach churned. Her arms gave out, unable to support her weight any longer, and she collapsed into the forest mud, feeling the sludge on the right side of her face. Pain radiated through her body, contorting in agony; her eyes rolled back in their sockets, and her lips trembled.
What she saw next was only a blur. One moment, she was back in the same room where she had woken up earlier, with Malfoy by her side. She tried to turn her head, still writhing in pain, and saw the small house-elf. However, the last thing she saw before passing out was the stormy grey of his eyes.
