The Hunt Is Not Over
by Rita Skeeter
The high season to capture the players of this year's Seventh Edition of the Empire's games has already begun. Scavengers have been deployed all over Britain to find the players that will partake in the Empire's event of the year. The number of captured players is always the highest during the summer.
If you haven't purchased your tickets for this year's Empire's games, there is still time to do so! Simply tap this WORD seven times and apply your wand signature to the back of this parchment. It will automatically be sent back to us.
Restored article of EMPIRE THIS WEEK
found in the trash of a muggle diner [02.07.2011]
The white noise of the little radio crackled in the tent. Hermione was perched on a wooden stool, sewing a rip in her cardigan. Outside, a soft rain was spattering the fabric of the tent, filtered through the cover of the Forest. Neville and Ginny were sorting their inventory on the table in the kitchen area.
This was the same tent they used in the Horcrux hunt. Her best friends weren't there anymore. She had last seen them both seven years ago. Harry, before he left to surrender to Voldemort. And Ron, at Harry's burial the day after.
After Harry was killed, the Order had taken his body away from the Battle before Voldemort and his forces could claim him. But when everyone else learned of his death, everything derailed. The Death Eaters were excited and gleeful, and battling them was even harder. Eventually the dark side got the upper hand.
Hermione couldn't remember exactly how she had learned Harry was dead. She only remembered imprecise walls, a gaping wound cleaving up her chest and a hole opening up under her feet. Then they escaped, or people dragged her while they escaped, and they ended up at Shell Cottage. The next morning, they buried Harry's body right there in the sand, beside Dobby. She had stared with a blank mind.
Death Eaters had soon found them and they had to fight and disapparate. Hermione, Neville and Ginny grabbed each other because they were physically the closest, and got separated from Ron and the rest of the Weasleys. They landed in a field. Two weeks later, the fog arrived, and Ginny couldn't find her family. Since then, they had stuck together and became their own little unit. A tiny family of three.
Four years after Harry's burial, FM-034 informed them that Ron Weasley had been captured for the games.
She had spent the entire year crying herself to sleep.
Ron hadn't won.
"The trade happens at 2 am," Neville said to Ginny. "In compartment number 17. The highest one."
Neville and Ginny were scheduled for a trade at the London Eye. It was a miracle that it hadn't fallen. It was fully standing, like a proud dominating circle for all those years. Rusty but strong. It had stopped working a long time ago, but became a place of gatherings, meetings and trading. Scavengers were patrolling the area more frequently and in greater numbers. Muggles hanged themselves there every week, and Rogues rifled through their clothes to find anything of value.
It was currently 1 in the morning, and Hermione's needle wasn't cooperating. An unexplained feeling of anger coursed through her veins. The needle pricked her fingertip, drawing a bead of red blood, and she cried out in frustration.
She buried her face in her hands, feeling her pulse in her burning fingertip. She wouldn't cry. She was safe, she was here, she was free.
The clatter stopped—Neville and Ginny interrupted their sorting.
"Why didn't we kill the snake when we had the chance?" Hermione said angrily to her feet. When she looked back up, her friends were examining her.
"We can still kill the snake," Neville said, but conviction wasn't behind his words.
Hogwarts' grounds—The Empire—were impenetrable because of the wards. She thought of everything they could have done better. Everything that would have brought them closer to Voldemort's death. They were so close.Soclose.
And they had failed. Harry was dead, Ron was killed in Numberland, Death Eaters had destroyed their world, and a deathly fog had eradicated 73% of humankind—according to FM-034.
Most of the survivors tried to avoid the city. The remaining whiffs of the fog hadn't completely lifted in the heart of the cities. Especially London. The fog had originated in June of 1998 after the Battle of Hogwarts, in the Ministry of Magic. It seeped from the building like misty poison the colour of pus, and kept pouring endlessly. The first two years of the fog were the deadliest, but over time, the flow diminished, but it never ended.
The Ministry of Magic was never entered again, cold and dank. Whatever had been inside, creating the fog, was probably still in there, dormant and poisonous. The air around the building was unbreathable. The entrance was sealed shut, and the Floo network had been long disabled.
Death Eaters were permanently posted there to guard the place.
"We can still find a way," Ginny said. A statement that was said only to comfort. They all knew it.
Hermione bunched up the fabric of her cardigan in her fists. Neville smiled sadly. His eyes had always remained a little vacant since the Battle. "The Order is reforming. Somewhere in Watford."
Like that meant something. Like that meant they were close to victory. The Order hadn't tried to contact them yet. In seven years, nobody tried to reach out…
"The prophecy said it was him who had to end Voldemort," she answered and her voice broke on the next words, "but he didn't." The anger subsided, leaving room for annoyance. It was tiring, thinking of the thousands of things that could have happened if they had killed Nagini.
For a few years after the Battle, the sword of Gryffindor had remained with them. But it had disappeared two years ago and never came back. Found another owner, someone worthy of it—unlike her.
Neville and Ginny had to leave. It was more dangerous to venture in the city alone than to stay in the hideout alone.
"What are we trading tonight?" she asked them.
Ginny looked at the table, pointing at the objects while naming them. "Erm, we got… let's see, bullets, socks, a hundred and twenty-five euros, and three tubes of toothpaste—that'll get us something."
They were hoping to bring back more food.
"Don't we have spare wands?" she asked. "If there are Healers there, we could get potions and ointments."
"We traded our spare wands last week," Neville reminded her.
She sighed deeply and got off the stool. She approached the table where they were packing. "Got everything?"
"Yep," Ginny replied, snapping close the rivets of her shoulder bag. "It shouldn't take more than an hour."
"If we're not back in 90 minutes…" Neville added, securing a scarf around his nose.
Hermione gulped. "I won't wait. I promise." That was their ultimate rule. Leave if we're not back within the time limit. "Got your pills?"
"Yes."
She zipped open the flap of the tent for them. The forest was sleeping in its dark cradle, a harsher rain falling down on the dead leaves. The wards kept the tang of the fog at bay, but not completely. The smell drifted a little into the tent, and she buried her mouth into her palm.
Ginny and Neville took off quickly, disapparating with a loud crack. She closed the tent expeditiously, releasing a breath she had been holding. She took her muggle timer—it was shaped like a pear and was used mostly for cooking—and set it for 90 minutes. It started to tick off.
She grabbed a book and waited.
There was a cracking sound outside, sixty-eight minutes later, and crunching footsteps on the forest floor strewn with dead leaves. She tossed the book aside and stood up, keeping quiet.
Never assume a familiar sound is from someone familiar.
"Hermione?" A voice echoed under the rain.
She exhaled at the sound of Ginny.
From behind the tent, she said: "Which meal do I miss the most?"
"Lamb stew." Neville's voice was even further away.
She quickly withdrew the concealing spells. Neville and Ginny entered the tent. Their faces were white, livid and full of an emotion that chilled her blood immediately.
"What's going on?"
They didn't answer, visibly shaken.
"What happened?" Louder.
With trembling fingers, Ginny pulled from her jacket a piece of parchment folded in half, dirty and stained.
"What is this?"
Ginny only handed it to her, tears in her eyes. Hermione took it.
"There were hundreds of them tacked in the city," Ginny whispered.
She unfolded the piece of paper, eyes jumping quickly on the words printed in cap locks. The Empire's games symbol was stamped at the centre top of the page.
HERMIONE GRANGER
WE HAVE YOUR PARENTS: RICHARD AND ISABEL GRANGER.
PLAY OR THEY DIE.
YOU HAVE 24 HOURS.
36 BILLSTON STREET, WATERLOO PIER
At the bottom of the page, a black and white picture of her parents had been printed. The picture was moving. There were two Death Eaters standing behind her parents, on their knees. Dark circles around their eyes. Unmistakable fear shaping their familiar faces. They were struggling, hands bound behind their back.
Her dad's nose was bleeding.
The air drained from Hermione's lungs. Her heart clenched, and a wave of dread swept over her from head to toe. The last time she had seen her parents, she had pointed her wand at them to obliviate them. They probably hadn't recovered their memories of her, buthermemories were intact.
She couldn't lose her parents.
She thought they were safe. She had hoped they were safe.
How could they have found them? How could they force her to play like that? Cowards! How could they—fury coiled in her abdomen. White hot rage drenched her vision.
"I'm so sorry, Hermione," Neville murmured, voice cracking.
She folded the paper. Tucked it in her jeans pocket. Ginny couldn't read her expression. Hermione turned on her heels and started gathering her things in a bag.
"Hermione, wait—" Neville started. "Let's think this through."
"There's nothing to think about." Her tone was cold, steadfast. She threw a bunch of clothes in her bag, a book, a muggle lighter. She didn't have much.
Ginny grabbed her arm. "Stop."
"Let go, Gin," she said.
"Look at me."
She ignored her.
"Look at me!" Ginny's voice wasn't asking. Hermione stopped her frantic packing and stared at her friend. "Iknow youhave to go. It's your parents."
Hermione pursed her lips, gulping back the sobs that screamed to be let out.
"They gave you 24 hours," Ginny said softly. She was about to cry. "I think these were hung up today. Can't… can you wait a little? We could say goodbye. It doesn't matter if you go there early. Numberland doesn't start for…erm—"
"Eleven days." Hermione finished.
They said nothing, and Neville took Hermione's bag from her hand. She slumped on the couch, trembling and weak. Ginny sat with her, and Neville sat at their feet, his back against Ginny's legs.
Hermione wasn't sure exactly what the Empire's games were. She imagined it was a torture tournament of sorts, during which the players had to perform horrible things to each other and the one that could do it all would win. But maybe that wasn't it. She simply knew they were deadly and that only one person won every year. How could she survive them? How could she possibly win?
She had to win.
They had to live.
Despair threatened to overtake her. It was a suicide mission.
But in the hopeless silence of the tent, a familiar voice resurfaced in her mind to whisper a phrase she had until now forgotten she had heard.You could survive.
Draco Malfoy had said that to her three years ago, in Bromley. What did he know about her that told him she could survive? What did he know about the games that told him she had a chance?
Hermione intertwined her fingers with Ginny's. They doze off, the three of them. The hooting in the forest kept startling them in the night, reminding them they were in a place reclaimed by wilderness and the ghost of humanity, not the normalcy of urbanity. They still weren't used to wildlife slowly taking back their territory—sightings of deers, foxes and boars weren't uncommon anymore. The fog had wiped out human beings, but affected the animals less for some reason.
Hermione waited a long time for her friends to fall asleep. She knew sleep wouldn't claim her. Eventually, Neville was snoring on the ground, and Ginny was lying on her side with her head on the armrest. She listened for their deep breaths, counting them, memorising them.
When the first light of dawn shone through the tent, Hermione stood up silently.
She paced back and forth in the kitchen, deciding whether or not she should wake them.
Back and forth.
Back.
And forth.
On the table, she had left them everything that could be useful to bring down Voldemort. Her copy of theTales of Beedle the Bard. Places they went. Locations where they had found horcruxes. Death Eaters wands they had collected—one of which belonged to Bellatrix. Wands theywouldn'ttrade.
Ginny and Neville knew everything there was to know about the Horcruxes, how to destroy them, what had happened seven years ago while she was hunting them with Harry and Ron.
They knew about Nagini. They knew about the sword and the Basilisk's fangs.
Tears were already gathering in the corners of her eyes. She couldn't say goodbye. She didn't think she'd ever see them again. She hadn't left her friends for seven years. That was the same amount of time she had spent with Harry and Ron at Hogwarts. Neville and Ginny were her family now.
Not saying goodbye was cowardly. Hermione wasn't known for her cowardice.
Resolute, she shook them awake.
Not a lot of words were exchanged. They tried to give her words of encouragement, of solace, of something. Neville embraced her in a bear hug and she inhaled him, hoping she would remember his brotherly smell. Ginny's embrace was more delicate, bittersweet and warm.
"You'll come back to us," Ginny murmured like a statement. "You'll be back. You'll win."
Hermione knew this was a lie. This was a farewell disguised as a goodbye—they all knew it and they all pretended it wasn't. At some point, she left their safe space and she took her bag, grabbed her cardigan, and laced her boots.
She looked back one last time, lifted her bandana on her nose and exited the tent.
She waited a minute outside the tent before disapparating.
Her chest heaved with pain. If this wasn't what heartbreak felt like, she didn't know what was.