Hermione kept running in the dark. The wind was whistling in her ears. She couldfeelhow much the temperature was different outside the wards. Her lungs were ablaze with ice and fire. She tasted blood in her mouth, the tang of metal coating her throat. She was panting, wheezing, coughing.
A few times, she stopped her run and tried to focus on justapparating. She knew Apparition without a wand required a very high level of skills, experience and control that she didn't possess.
Not in her state of mind.
And even if she could, she would splinch. She was too tired, too shaken up.
So she ran.
She stumbled on uneven ground, tumbling down, her palms and knees streaked with dirt. She got back up, her wet hair freeze-drying in the air. She ran until her legs were sore and quivering and her lungs aching.
The more distance she put behind her and the Empire, the more her heart screamed for Draco. She couldn't bear to think about the betrayal he would feel. Wade was ready to kill her, and she knew he wanted Draco dead. He would tell a Gamemaster or anybody every little thing he suspected.
The Empire would turn on Draco.
All because she hadn't stopped Wade.
Instead, she had run away to save her own life.
They would kill her if she came back. But she would have died if she stayed.
Where could she go?
She stopped, hand on her knees, and tried to catch her breath. Her wet uniform clung to her skin, sending gooseflesh on every limb. She looked around, trying to situate herself. She was in the middle of the highlands, and there were no trees. Elsewhere, somewhere further east, she knew there were mountains covered in spruces.
It was her best bet—she couldn't stay in the open.
As soon as the Empire would realise she was gone, they would come after her.
They would hunt her down.
She started running again, ignoring the protests of her muscles. The sting in her eyes returned, it was either the wind or the grief lathering in her core. Every inch of exposed skin was burning with the prick of thousands of needles.
After what she thought was miles, the land began to slope downwards. Her boot caught on the edge of a rock protruding from the ground and she fell again. Rolled down the hill, catching grass and twigs until the momentum ended.
Groaning, she got to her feet and dusted herself off. There was a rip in her uniform, on her right shoulder. The land here was rockier, the prairie tallgrass whispering under the breeze. She had entered a vast woodland speared with pine, birch and oak trees around a shimmering, massive loch.
"Okay, okay, okay," she whispered to herself, pulse still frenetic. "Think. Think."
She didn't know where she was.
But she wasn't far enough.
Was there a village or a town nearby?
She couldn't stand still and not go anywhere. She had to move—to hide.
It was terrifying, truly, to stand still in the wilderness at night.
Her teeth chattered and she wrapped her arms around herself.
"Okay, okay," she panted, mumbling. "I'm in a glen. I ran mostly east." Her chest heaved and a violent shiver shook her body.
She didn't know which loch this was.
She allowed herself another ten seconds of rest before she started running. Her pace had lessened considerably. She felt on the brink of collapse. But she had felt this way before—November 1st, to be precise—and so she knew she could go on.
She jogged into the moorland, weaving through the patches of marsh and groves of trees. Her boots were squelching on the soil, legs brushing against shrubs. Her uniform snagged on thorns.
Somewhere, an owl hooted.
She hadn't heard an owl inyears.
She was crossing over to the other side, keeping the loch on her right. The shore was barely wide, grass stopping right where the water started.
She stopped dead in her tracks when she spotted dark, animal figures between the forest border and the loch.
Her stomach cramped with fear, quickly replaced by astonishment. She held her breath as she watched the Thestrals. They had spotted her too.
This was her first time seeing them. Their bony, dark figure reflected the glow of the moon, their hooves clinking against the stones. They had the same silhouette of a horse, only bigger, and they almost had no muscles around the bones. Just dark flesh and joints, a skeletal allure that made most Wizards flee upon seeing them for the first time.
In front of her, one of the Thestrals stretched its wings, shook them and tucked them back against its body. Another made a shrill sound.
She counted seven. Two smaller.
The closest one to her had not moved yet—only a tilt of the head. A snort that sounded exactly like a horse.
"I won't harm you," she murmured, slowly reaching out her hand. "I promise."
Her hand was shaking with cold and nerves. For all she knew, the Thestral could bite her fingers off.
She tried to apparate again—it didn't work.
She waited, waited. Watched them interact with each other. One by the forest walked to the edge of the loch, spread its front legs slightly and dipped its head in the water to drink. The youngsters kept close to a bigger one.
She took a step toward the Thestral. Its head straightened up.
Her voice travelled softly with the wind. "I'm sorry they used your kind to create poison. I'm sorry they gave you a reason to hate us."
She took another step and the Thestral huffed loudly. Its wings twitched.
"Please… please take me somewhere." Her eyes roamed over the beast's elongated face. "Anywhere. Please, save me."
Another step.
Another.
Her hand pressed flat against the Thestral's nose. "Will you take me somewhere?" she whispered, her breath coming out in a puff.
The Thestral bucked its head back, then front. Nudged her with its nose. She guessed that this particular animal must have been domesticated at some point in its life or that it wasn't its first interaction with humans.
"Good, good…" Her palm slid over its neck—she could almost imagine its mane draped over it.
She didn't enjoy flying. And maybe the Thestral could sense it on her.
The beast lowered itself, its strong, corded legs bending. With extreme care, she climbed on its back, closer to its neck than its wings. The animal's spine jutted painfully into her thighs.
It had no mane for her to hold on to. This flight could either be her salvation or her doom. Her heart banged in her chest.
"Anywhere," she blurted out, "anywhere but here."
The Thestral took flight with a powerful flap of its wings and she yelped, wrapping her arms around its neck, pressing her tights against its body for purchase.
The wind roared in her ears as they gained height. Each beat of its wings wooshed in the glacial air. Hermione's body trembled with panic at the thought of falling. Under her, the loch got smaller and further and she didn't look to see which direction the animal had chosen.
It didn't matter.
Suspended between stars and land, tears gathered in her eyes again. The force of the wind blew them back on her temples as soon as they spilled out. And as the Thestral flew above marshlands and mountains, tears clogged in her throat for what she had left behind.
For Reine who had died feeling betrayed.
For Arthur all alone with strangers.
For Keela stranded like a vagabond.
For the man she loved, abandoned like a sheep in the wolf's den.
She didn't cry.
But she screamed.
She screamed for what she had lost, what she had done, what she had become.
England, Liverpool—November 2000
Hermione and Ginny were wrapped in warm clothes, venturing into a building that had at least ten stories and at least five flats on each one. The ground floor flats had already been looted and pillaged, but they took their chances on the higher floors. If the flats hadn't been looted, they could find a lot of precious items.
It was the middle of the day, but the building was dark, especially in the corridors where there weren't any windows.
"Think we'll find toothpaste?" Ginny muttered, the bandana tucked high on her face, right under her eyes.
Hermione scoffed. "If only."
The putrid smell made their stomach heave.
They arrived at the last flat of the ninth floor. The door was ajar, and they looked at each other. They couldn't hear anything.
Hermione pressed a finger to her lips and they slowly entered the flat.
Someone jumped on Ginny, hooking their arm under her neck, and another person pointed a gun at her.
Hermione drew her wand immediately. "Drop it!"
The barrel pointed at her face was a shotgun, handled by a man with a black scarf tied around his nose and khol around his eyes. Another man was holding Ginny against him.
Rogues.
"Give us what you have, and we'll leave you unharmed," the shotgun man said. His voice was scraped like he hadn't talked for months.
If Hermione had been alone, she wouldn't have hesitated to throw spells. She would have been quick with it. But now she couldn't. There was no telling who would die first if she threw the first spell.
She exchanged a look with her friend. They had found a lot of food today, stored in Hermione's bag charmed with an undetectable extension spell. They couldn't part with it. They couldn't stay much longer outside or they would get sick. She already had a headache and she felt feverish.
"If you let go of my friend," she replied calmly, "I won't attack."
The man's eyes flashed and she could imagine his snarl under his scarf. "You're just a bunch of unnatural and unholy pests that sold their souls."
That was their belief. When Muggles discovered the existence of Wizards, they separated into two categories: those who were awed and accepted magic existed, and those who believed they were delluled people who had sold their soul to the devil. Eventually, even the Wizards separated them and named them differently. Muggles and Rogues.
When she used to imagine what life would be like once Muggles permanently discovered the existence of Wizards and magic, she never thought it would be like this. Permanently, because the news of the existence of magic travelled faster than individual Obliviating spells.
Ginny's eyes gleamed with determination. She inhaled sharply and sent a kick back to the man's knees. At the same time, Hermione stunned the armed man. Ginny knocked the man she'd kicked unconscious.
The Rogues were still on the carpet.
"You okay?" Hermione asked her.
Ginny nodded, readjusting the bandana on her nose. "I'm fine, but you look pale."
"We have to hurry." She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. She picked up the man's shotgun and walked over him to get to the living room.
"They were waiting for us," Ginny said.
They found prescription meds and tampons in the bathroom cabinets. In the kitchen, they found saltines, granola bars and ground coffee. When Hermione opened the unpowered fridge to check its content, she pulled down her bandana and retched.
The Thestral landed when dawn streaked the sky with gold and pink. By then, her muscles were so sore that she slid off the animal's back and hit the ground limply. The air had an acrid tang to it, but it wasn't saturated. She could breathe without a scarf around her face.
At midnight, her uniform had cleaned itself like usual, drying instantly and providing her with a fraction of warmth and comfort.
As soon as the Thetral touched the ground, a spooked animal scurried away. She just had time to catch a glimpse of the tawny fur of a deer disappearing from her sight.
The Thestral stretched its wings and snorted.
She looked at her surroundings, rotating a full circle on herself.
Abandoned, broken rides—the wind creaking the metal of anything attached to hinges. A deserted carousel with aluminium, riderless horses. It smelt of rust, dust and steel. The floor was covered in rubbish, plastic straws or cups, popcorn bags and stuffed animals so stained it was impossible to guess their original colour. Two Ferris wheels towered over the site, opposite each other.
It was dead quiet. But amidst this desolated muggle place, she saw life. Flashes of green peeking from crevices. Ivy curling around signing posts, wildflowers poking between the wheels of the candy floss machine, weeds swallowing the benches legs.
"You brought me to Hull," she said to the Thestral. She had come to the fair three times with her parents and a childhood friend.
Hull Fair hadn't been lit since 1997.
Her legs were aching from cramping against the Thestral's back all night. Her mind was fogged, and it took a moment to gather her wits and establish her priorities.
She needed to sleep. But for that, she needed shelter.
She had to find water and food.
She needed a weapon of some kind, anything that she could defend herself with.
She needed a piece of clothing to put over her uniform. Anything to cover the large number on her back that was way too recognizable.
She had to apparate away to find the Order—but that meant she needed a wand.
Sleep, water, weapon, clothing, wand.
"You don't have to stay," she told the Thestral.
The animal didn't seem to acknowledge her words, and so she blew hot air into her palms and began her exploration. She made a beeline for the nearest Ferris wheel.
She didn't know what kind of animals or people ventured into this place. Height was the best option to avoid being seen and being too vulnerable. As she cut her way through the fair, she heard squirrels scuttling away, papers rustling, and the crows of ravens.
On the ground, at different locations, she found a sealed bag of sea salt crisps from a famous brand, and a plastic water bottle that still had half of its content. This was better than nothing, although in any other situation, she would never drink this.
She kept her findings against her body like a treasure, and arrived at the bottom of the Ferris Wheel, craning her neck.
The gondolas were creaking, painted in neon orange and purple. It seemed impossible to reach the top gondola, but the centre shaft had a ladder up to the middle. From there she could access a gondola in the middle —one that would represent three or nine on a clock.
She ignored the acceleration of her heart protesting at thisbad ideaand shoved the crisps and water bottle in the front of her uniform.
If there was one thing she could do, it was climbing.
She had spent the last month climbing.
She got onto the base platform, cracked her knuckles, tied her hair and grabbed the first rung. Her progress was slow and the steel was freezing. Her fingers cramped after a little while and her muscles ignited, shaking with strain.
At the halfway point, she hoisted herself onto the metal narrow V-shaped structure that shot toward every gondola. The two beams were connected by strong wires, but still she didn't touch the wires. On her hands and knees, she progressed on the structure.
Her entire body was shaking, tightening with every move. She did her best to avoid looking down, but she had to look at her hands.
And she could see the blurry, minuscule shapes underneath her.
A few feet away from the gondola, she stopped. Her elbows were quivering under her weight and she was panting. The crisps bag and the water bottle felt awkward, pulling down her uniform with gravity.
Then his words rang through her mind like an antidote spreading through her veins.
You could survive this.
Clenching her teeth, she groaned and finished her climb, practically jumping into the gondola with a loud thud. She stayed on the ground as it swayed, catching her breath and letting her tremors take the best of her.
She removed the crisps and the bottle from her uniform and curled up on herself. Cheek pressed on possibly the dirtiest ground she'd ever been on.
The sky was lighting up above her as she was finally unmoving. No weight on her joints.
One by one, her thoughts washed away. Drifting into the dawn.
All that remained were the sounds swinging in her head—sounds that would haunt her forever. The thumping of boots. The green light chime. The crush of a skull. The words You're an animal.The blade piercing Reine's stomach.
But lulling her into a deep slumber were also sounds that she cherished—sounds that could heal a part of her. Draco's laughter. Keela's playful barks. The pottage softly bubbling on the stove. The purring of a white cat.
The gondola kept swaying gently in the wind, her small, cold body shelled into its orange and purple heart.
She woke with a splitting headache, mouth pasty and stomach growling painfully. Unfolding her sore joints to a sitting position, she groped for the water bottle. It had rolled under the seat. She finished it in four gulps. She could only pray it hadn't been spiked with something.
After scraping the crust off the corner of her eyes, she glanced down from the gondola. The sun was setting, drenching the inanimate landscape with a golden glow.
She had slept from dawn until dusk.
She had left the Empire approximately 20 hours ago.
The cold air seeped into her skin everywhere the uniform didn't cover. Her palms were scraped, dried blood staining the heels of her hands and her wrists. She couldn't see them, but she knew her knees and elbows were in the same state.
She looked at the crisps bag, debating whether she should eat them. They were salty—they would make her thirsty even more.
She peeked at the ground again, pulse thundering in her head.
One, she probably shouldn't be on the ground at night. Merlin knew what kind of animals roamed around at night. The fair belonged to the wilderness now. But darkness had not fallen yet—if she wanted to find some food, clothing and maybe a weapon, she had to act now.
Two, she couldn't stay in the gondola forever. She had to climb down in order to find what she needed and eventually get out of here. But she had to find a shelter. Maybe the Empire had already deployed Scavengers and Death Eaters in every town of the country to find her.
How ridiculous was this.
She wondered with a bitter spike of irony how they felt about losing their golden player.Then her heart tugged at the thought of Draco.
She rubbed her neck, hearing the satisfying cracks, and blew in her hands to warm them up. The crisps were tucked into her uniform again as she scrambled out of the gondola.
Her climb down was much slower—the headache was muddling her brain, making her grip weak and trembling.
When she was on the base platform, she stood still for a second, listening for any alarming noise. Once she decided the way was clear, she hurried through the cold, overgrown fair towards the gift shop.
It had been looted. Of course it was.
The tent's walls were ripped to shreds, and various objects, knick knacks and toys were broken on the ground. Muggle coins shining on the floor when they caught a sunbeam.
She combed the place, found a sour sweets packet—discarded it.
What had she expected? She wouldn't find a home cooked meal here. But the salt crisps in her uniform were tantalising her more by the minute.
At the back of the tent, she found a crumpled purple jumper on the ground. She picked it up. It still had the label, and was three times her size. A bright orange logo was on its front. An orange and purple jumper—that would have to do.
She pulled it over her head and felt immediately better about the number 41 being hidden. It fell to her upper thighs and covered her entire hands.
She smiled when she imagined the face Ron would have made.
A sudden, faraway sound interrupted her thoughts.
It sounded like a trash can falling.
Her heartbeat exploded in her chest as she froze in place.
Somewhere outside the tent, there was a quick patter.
Paws.
A low, quiet bark.
A swarm of things cascaded inside her.
Could it be? Keela?
She shouldn't go out. She shouldhide.
What if it was a beast?
The sounds got even closer. Huffs. Sniffs. Licks. Dog sounds.
She curled her hands into fists as she wondered how much time she had before the animal found her in here.
She couldn't take any chances. So she ducked under the counter, out of sight from the entrance, and waited.
Another bark—closer. Another bounce of her heart.
They had searched everywhere for her—
The paws got closer, nearing the gift shop, and her mind jumped out of her body. No way would she hide when Draco's dog was right outside.
But she grabbed a mug just in case. A projectile to throw. It was better than nothing.
She stood up just as the animal passed in front of the entrance.
Staring, she held her breath, scouring her brain to understand what she was looking at.
The dog stared right back.
Sheknewthat dog. Those floppy ears, those droopy lips—
It took seconds for her mind to click.
The dog barked and she gasped. If Fang was here, then—
"Hermione?"
Hagrid's voice boomed, warm and familiar. His huge silhouette was outlined at least 60 feet away from the gift shop, standing right by a giant swing ride. He wore his typical long fur coat and black trousers, his dark beard falling over his chest.
She felt herself crack open.
They both hurried to meet each other in the middle, Hagrid's dog right on her heels. And it took a whole six seconds before they were face to face, and he knelt down.
She crashed into his gigantic body, throat closing.
The dam burst open.
She cried her exhaustion, her pain, her grief, her confusion against him. Her relief. Her fear. Hagrid patted her back. "Blimey, Hermione…" he grunted, and she heard the tightness of his voice, "what yer doin' here?"
She couldn't form words yet. The world was spinning around her but Hagrid had found her.
Hagrid was a morsel of home.
He peeled her away to look at her, detailing her attire, the mess of her hair, the scrapes on her skin, her cheeks red with the cold, and frowned.
"Are yeh okay?"
All she could do was shake her head sideways, repeatedly.
No, she was not okay. She was not okay…
He sighed deeply. "Yer thinner." Straightening up to his full height, he whistled for Fang's attention. "Come on, we shouldn' stay here."
She was glad he didn't ask more right now—
"We'll take care of yeh," he said gruffly, then mumbled. "Blimey… I can't believe yer out of that foul place." He looked down at her, eyes shining with tears. "We'll take care of yeh, Hermione, yeh'll e."