The End is at the Begining

A/N: Ok guys and gals, this is the prologue for a work in progress. I'd like your feed back on improvements or what you think so far. Its set in the year 2000, which, going on info from the harry potter lexicon and the books (i dont own either) makes Hermione around 21. The prologue is a diary entry of sorts but the rest (or most of it) will be a third person type thing. Thanks a bunch of daisies! Switches between several characters.

Disclaimer: Disclaimed

Summary: Lets go back to a time when the seeds where being sown, when the evil started to brew in the loins of one love-starved squib from her passionate embraces with one Tom Riddle of the Riddle House. Sort out the whole mess that ensued from that point. Lets see what’ll happen when someone sacrifices themselves for the good of the millions affected by that one baby.


Prologue:

Dumbledore…my old headmaster. His grave rests in the grounds of Hogwarts, the merpeople in the lake that protected it are now all gone- slaughtered by the Deatheaters for sport when they overran the ancient castle. The castle, what remains of it at least, is just a shell of its former glory. Werewolves run rampant through the woods, exiled by the tyranny of the dark lord.

I live in exile myself, hiding with the few survivors still against him. Muggles – well, in England, there’s no freedom for them. Slaves, whores, target practise. America and the reaches of Europe fair no better. He’s turned his sights on the Far East now – what chance do they have?
I have watched many of my friends die at the hands of their captors, enemies, a few by their own doing. I’ve tried it myself a few times, but I’m a coward. I could not bring myself to destroy something so hard worked for. I pen this with the few ink reserves I can get a hold of, stolen from a blind muggle as he dragged the heavy cart to his destination. He’ll be beaten, possibly killed for it. What is one more to the countless millions?

Food is scarce for us, we eat what we kill and we kill what we find. In the highlands of Scotland, that’s not a lot. To be honest, Scotland has been transformed into a prison of sorts. A barrier splits England and Scotland from coast to coast, reaching thousands of feet high. It is in here that the few lucky enough to survive tortures or death are thrown to be devoured by roaming wild beasts. Dragons, Manticores, Kappas, Kelpies, Lethifolds, Trolls, Hellhounds, Acromantulas, Banshees, Basilisks, Chimaeras, Erklings, Graphorns, Giants, Nundus, Occamies, Quintapeds and Runespoors to name the few that I have seen.

We, only twenty eight in number, have a small colony going, around a network of caves. Our eldest reaching no more than fifty three to our youngest, a new arrival who is now six weeks old. She’s a fighter, I’ll tell you. We have a small farm of sorts with a healthy crop – if not small – of carrots, wild onions and cabbage. We even found a few sheep a few months back.

Well, to go back to my reason for writing in these dark times. I have found I cannot sit nor can Iwork in this meagre environment. I can’t help but let my thoughts wander to what Dumbledore found. Horcruxes. He destroyed many, but the last – the last was destroyed by Voldemort himself. Harry Potter, the sixth and final horcrux was sapped of his life before my very eyes. A horror that haunts my dreams to this day. I must get to his works. I must for the sake of all of our lives, for all that is good and just in this foul and warped world. His study, after all, remains, to this day untouched, guarded by the now headless golden Phoenix statue. I know that to venture to the castle means certain death. Fenrir Greyback holds his Werewolf colonies tightly regimented, despite his sick and depraved acts of murder and cannibalism. He is an adversary most difficult to overcome. If I can reach the two of the old Order of the Phoenix that were deported there, maybe they are not too far gone to the wild to help me. They are Bill Weasley and Remus Lupin.

I must close my writings for now. Maybe I can find something of use but now it is far too late. The scratching of my quill is disturbing the children sleeping peacefully around me. There’s seven of them. Six week old Starlight Haverbrook, three year old Alfie McCorwin, the two ten year old boys Davith Alesbury and Patrick O’Shea, seven year old Donna Griffiths, eight year old Astasia Marlowe and sixteen year old Akshay Jagdeep sleeps in a room accessable by one route only and guarded nightly bythe adults. It is my watch this night.

Signed Hermione Jane Granger
21 Years of Age.
Date: 12th May 2000

Chapter 1

Hermione put the stopper in the inkwell and cleaned her quill on her stained over tunic. Her account, penned neatly on thick parchment, lay beside her on the stone ridge. Around her the light breathing of the children lulled her into a sense of security. Wrapping her arms around her to keep the chill of the spring breeze out of her bones, she drew her knees up to her chest.

The over tunics protected the sparse clothing in the small colonies possession and also aided in warming them during cold nights. The dim white seemed to sap the colour from people’s faces, lending them a greyed pallor. Hair grew long to stop the few blades and magic that they could access, sharp. The few witches and Wizards that lived in the colony had had their wands confiscated, save for two, who had hidden and found themselves lost here.

At the cave mouth two stood on guard, sentries against the foul creatures that lurked in the area. In the main cave Sorscha Willowbrook tended the fire, the smoke of which spiralled out through a small opening in the roof of the cave. The fire was a source of warmth, a cook fire and also a form or protection should their ever be a need. In various sized openings in the main cave that were sectioned off to serve as bedrooms, the rest of the inhabitants slept.

Sorscha ladled hot broth into tin mugs for herself and the other three awake. The broth was what remained of the days food reheated on the open fire in the great cauldron that hung over the flames. The cauldron was taken from the home of an elderly witch at the beginning of the segregation. She had passed away peacefully in her sleep the night Hermione sought refuge with her. The old healer could have done a great service for the colony over the past year and a half.

Hermione shut her eyes as she leant back against the cool, smooth stone. Veins of marble peeked through the granite, rough and untainted, the white and black of the marble were a great source of entertainment when trying to get the children to sleep. The heavy tarpaulin over the door way was pushed back as the small blonde haired muggle woman, Sorscha, stepped through. She stepped quietly over to Hermione and tapped her lightly on the shoulder.

Hermione opened her eyes, fixing her chocolaty gaze on Sorscha’s grey one and smiled. She took the proffered mug of broth and began sipping at it.

“You warm enough?” Sorscha asked. She wore a thick red woollen jumper over a baggy grey t-shirt and jeans held up with a cord of rope. Her blonde hair was held back in a plait with a strip of linen, the grease and dirt visible in the pallid glow given out by the oil lamp at Hermione’s side. The young woman, at twenty-six would have been pretty if a deep gouge did not mar her face, blinding her in her left eye. The scar was a stark reminder of how close she came to loosing her life. Hermione nodded, wrapping her hands tighter around the mug.

“Mind if I sit with you for a little while?” Hermione shook her head. Sorscha smiled and sat beside her, resting her head on Hermione’s shoulder after a short time. The two had become friends over the past year after finding each had the same passion for knowledge. Sorscha had been training as a College lecturer when she first heard of the attacks by one who named himself as Voldemort. She had been teaching when the attacks became more of a war situation. She had lost her eye to a well aimed strike by a Manticore cub when Hermione met her, lost and alone.

“You know, it’s times like these, when I’m with the children, that I miss Ron the most,” Hermione said in barely a whisper. Sorscha slipped her arms around Hermione, hugging her close. “In some ways, I’m glad I miscarried,” Hermione had lost her child at three months pregnant when she had heard of Ron and Harry’s deaths.

“How so?” Sorscha asked, curious.

“I wouldn’t have escaped if I had had it,” Hermione blew on the broth and swallowed a big gulp. “I would have had one more thing to loose,”

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Hermione awoke shortly after midday. She had gone to her bed when Dervish Spinnifold had relived her of watch at seven that morning. Joyful squeals reached her ears as she came to the mouth of the cave, her Weasley jumper, the last Mrs. Weasley had ever knitted for her, pulled over her tunic.

The children were currently fighting each other with sticks that served as swords. The two youngest children, Starlight and Alfie, were in the care of Avril Jennings, the oldest member of our colony. Dervish watched with an amused smile as Akshay blocked, parried and thrust his weapon in graceful movements against his younger, less trained opponents, only to be brought to the ground when they all jumped on him.

A number of the colony were out tending the meagre crops, hunting, or watching the colony boundaries for trespassers or fell creatures. Most stayed around the caves tending to their chores. Sorscha still slept, Hermione had been careful not to wake her as they shared a room. Greg Hankin was bent over his well worn maps again, searching for weaknesses, ways in which to get supplies through the wall.

The warning horn sounded from the watch post created in one of the ancient oak trees a short distance from the cave mouth.

“A stranger!” The deep voice of Dennis McCorwin called. “A woman left of the cave!” All eyes turned, children stopped their play. Dervish, Ben Dodds and Jemma Spencer hoisted their sharpened blades from their make shift baldrics and approached the ridge, to better see the new visitor.

The woman was ragged, her hair well past her waist, hung in rats tails down her back and around her face. She constantly turned her gaze back as if she feared pursuit. As she staggered forward she noticed the three guards.

“Halt stranger and state your name and purpose!” Dervish shouted. He was, after all the leader of the group.

“I am seeking someone. Hermione Granger, I must see her!” The desperation rang in her voice, tears welled in her eyes and she dropped, exhausted to her knees.

“Your name! State your name!” Dervish yelled again. He tightened his grip on the blade in his hand and took a step forward.

“Ginny?” Hermione muttered. “Ginny!” She almost screamed as she recognised the glints of red in her lank hair and the once round and bright face of one of her best friends. Rushing down the hill to greet her, ignoring the warnings of Dervish and Jemma she fell to her knees, embracing Ginny. Burying her face in Ginny’s lengths of hair, she sobbed. Ginny collapsed into her arms, her will to stay awake lost. Finally, after weeks of wandering, Ginny had finally found her.

Wet hands…What-

Hermione raised one of her hands to her tear blurred eyes to see what the warm moisture could be.

Blood. Ginny’s blood.

“Somebody help! She’s wounded!” Hermione screeched, suddenly terrified of loosing her.

Chapter 2

The enthralling scent of tree pollen and pine filled the Forbidden Forest. In its heart, in the darkness, Fenrir Greyback hunched on a fallen log. His long hair was matted and dirty, caked with dried blood hanging forward over his wolfish features, blood clotting in his abundant chest hair from the previous night’s kill. Thick, coarse hairs covered most of his back and stomach, his arms and legs all but lost in the fetid strands. His nails were gnarled and riddled with dirt, congealed blood stuck beneath them. His eyes, now glowing amber, glared out from bangs at the hirsute masses assembled, his naked form giving him an overwhelming sense of malevolence.

“Brothers! Sisters!” He growled. Silence fell. Above them, the towering canopies could be heard whispering as the winds buffeted them. “Our forces are almost ready! Soon we shall move down to the wall! With the power of tooth and claw we, shall eradicate it!” Tumultuous growls and barks reverberated through the forest as the assembled werewolves cheered.

“The wolf will have his day! The day denied him by the one who dares call himself Lord!” Greyback sneered. “My children, you may gorge yourselves on their flesh! Destroy them all and bring the rule of the wild back to its rightful place! I alone will face our oppressor. I alone will drain him of his life force! But together, we shall fight!” Fenrir howled, long and low and his feral moans echoed into the shadows around them.

He raised himself to a standing position and thrust his arms into the air, howling amid the cacophony of support.

In the ruins of Hogwarts, a stone’s throw from the edge of the forest, red eyes snapped open.. In the dripping, oozing dungeons, pale faces smirked, their eyes narrowing. The three Vampires that hung from the ceiling in a particularly secluded section, glanced at each other before returning to their day time slumber. Werewolf blood was a delicacy and soon, soon they would feed.

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Hermione gazed, ashen faced at the still form of her friend. Ginny slept on her front, her face turned towards Hermione and her left arm lolling on the pillow by her face. Her wounds – deep gouges in her back – had been cleaned, cleansed with a healing salve and wrapped in tight bandages. She had not stirred since her collapse a few hours previous and Hermione had not left her side. Time passed on in shallow breaths.

Sorscha came to their room with her customary offering of broth. Hermione barely took her glaze from Ginny as Sorscha sat down beside her. Sorscha handed broth over to Hermione and scooped the tattered blanket from the top of her bed, draping it over her shoulders. Hermione turned, offering a sad smile.

“Don’t worry, she’ll be fine. As soon as she wakes up we’ll get her fed and she’ll be as right as rain,” As if to emphasise Sorscha’s words, a rumble of thunder echoed through the caves. There was a silence as the two girls soaked up each others company. “So, who is she exactly?”

Hermione cleared her throat and took a sip from her mug before speaking.

“Her name’s Ginny Weasley. She was Ron’s sister and one of my closest friends before- before all this. I thought I’d lost her,” Hermione reached tentatively for Ginny’s arm and carefully turned it. “You see this hideous thing,” Sorscha bent over to look. Her breath caught in her throat. “I know you recognise it. It’s His mark. The Dark Mark burned into my Gin. My poor, stupid Gin,”

“How did she- Why is she on this side of the wall then, if she’s…one of them?” Sorscha whispered. Hermione loosed her grip on Ginny and slumped back.

“I don’t know. I just don’t know,” Silence followed. Sorscha knew the signs. Standing, she turned and left as quietly as she had come. The thunder cracked above them, the torch against the wall flared, sending shadows skittering across the uneven surfaces. Hours drifted past, fatigue slowly overwhelming Hermione.

Ginny jolted awake. Sweat beaded her brow and soaked into the feather pillow. Her breathing came in ragged gasps, her chest heaving. Taking in the little she could see from her position, she saw Hermione sleeping in the bed across from hers. A relieved smile crept over her wan features.

“Hermione?” She croaked. The brunette stirred a little in her sleep. “Hermione?” She tried a little louder. Hermione’s eyes fluttered open. “I found you,” The young women shared a weak smile.

“What happened Gin?” The red head knew the question went far beyond her current state of health. “Why?”

“For my Family. I did it to save my family. To be able to warn them in case of-“ Pain creased her face. She gripped her left arm to her chest as the Dark Mark burned brighter. “I can’t! Hermione - promise me something,” Ginny convulsed onto her side, her legs curled up to her chest.

“Ginny! What is it? Gin-“ Panic danced through Hermione. Waves of memories, loss and guilt flared in her minds eye. Jumping up she tried to hold Ginny still, tried to make sense of what she was being asked.

“Destroy him Hermione,” The words tumbled out in breath.

“What?”

“Destroy HIM! Dumbledore-“ A scream escaped her throat. Ginny writhed in the bed, gashes appearing down her arms, her legs and over her face. “He knew! Dumbledore knew!” Tears flowed down her face. She wailed in agony. “Promise me…” The words died with her last breath. A dim light rose from her slack jaw.

“Ginny?” Tears tracked lines down her face. “Ginny! No, Ginny,” She sobbed, her head dropping to the lifeless shoulder of her friend. Slowly, she turned her face to the small glowing orb, still rising to the ceiling. “I promise. I swear it by my blood that I will rid this world of its plight! I will not fail you Ginny,”

Chapter 3

Ginny relaxed, her body released. Around her neck, a flash of light caught Hermione’s eye. Knuckling her tears away, she reached tentatively for the slender silver chain. Carefully unhooking it from her friends cooling body, she raised the thin circle of silver attached to the chain. A tiny hourglass glinted from where it was held in the centre of the circle. Her breath caught in her throat.

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“But where are you going? Hermione! Talk to me!” Sorscha shouted frantically as Hermione stuffed a sack with her remaining clothes. At the bottom a small supply of food was stored along with three creased pictures and a worn map. Around her shoulders, a bladder of water was already slung, her deer pelt cloak pulled snugly around her person. As Hermione pulled the ties of sack tight, Sorscha grabbed her.

“I’m going to free us,” Hermione stated. Raw determination laced her voice. Sorscha’s grip slackened. Tears threatened at her good eye. “Maybe we’ll meet again sometime,” Hermione tried to smile. Failing that, she stepped forward and drew her companion into a brief hug.

Hermione turned on her heel, unable to meet her friend’s wounded gaze. She strode out of her bed chamber, past the gathered dwellers to the cave mouth. She paused; took a deep breath. The darkness of the night consumed her as she took the first pace to a new future; a new life.

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In the Forbidden Forest, Fenrir Greyback had assembled his most trusted creations. A war council. A woman lolled on her side, exposing her breasts through her tangled mane of grey hair. Her eyes fixed on every Werewolf assembled, unabashed. One hand trailed patterns down her grimy leg. As the alpha female she was entitled to unaccounted pleasures and the second taste of a kill. Her mate crouched, wary and ready. Beside them the second in command and his mate poised, listening intently to the sounds that accosted them. In a tight ring, three others crouched, waiting for their leader to speak.

“We are missing three,” Fenrir snarled. His mate smirked. “Never the less, we shall press on. Their deaths will just be an addition to our pleasure,” Chilling peals of wolfish laughter left his throat. “We move with the end of the next full moon. Weasley,” He barked. A young man snapped his attention to his leader. His lank red hair trailed down his back over smooth, lean muscle. “You lead the first wave into the attack. Catch them unawares, stalk them like your prey,” The two men shared a broad, blood thirsty grin.

“As you command it, so shall it be,” Bill Weasley lowered his head in respect for his master. The law of the pack was a simple one, one Bill had learnt well.

“You, Howes,” He pointed a claw like finger at a flaxen haired, hulking creature whose face and body were scarred almost beyond recognition. “Will follow up the rear, while they are distracted you shall deal a shattering blow,”

“It is madness-“ Howes began to growl his protest.

“You doubt my judgement!” Fenrir snapped. He swung his hand up, catching Howes under the chin and sending him cart wheeling backwards.

“I do not doubt you; I just need more men to do as you command. To send me in with so few is certain death!” Howes roared from his ungainly position on the soft earth.

“You expected to live?” The grey haired woman almost hissed. “You do your job, you uphold the pack. If you expect to survive you fail. You are too cautious. You will die Howes,”

“Quiet yourself, Livonia,” Fenrir snarled at his mate, anger creasing his brow. “Wilcox! You take the main body and overrun them!” A snowy haired, sly-eyed elder pounded a fist on his scarred torso. “Carrows, Rookwood, you are my most trusted. You will lead a small party to survey the area. You have tonight to prepare. Go!”

The second in command and his mate, both tawny haired individuals with pale, unmarred flesh and large wolf ears and tails, slunk off into the darkness to select their scouting party. They were some of the few full blooded werewolves that numbered in the pack. As such they were far more in tune with the wild and its happenings. Fenrir trusted their senses better than his own; a fault that he was sure would one day cause his downfall.

An icy wind whipped through the tall trees. They would have to move before Autumn settled in and with it, the ravenous beasts that even they feared.

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It had been four days since Hermione had left the caves. The days had been warm with a cool breeze but now a storm threatened. Black rolling clouds advanced with cruel speed as the winds picked up to a gale. Pulling her pelts around her to block out the chill, she continued down a hill into a copse. A short distance away she could see a scattering of buildings. If she could reach them before the storm hit at least she would have shelter.

Putting speed back into her weary step, she hurried through the sparse trees, ignoring the trilling of a pair of wood pigeons and started the ascent of the second hill standing between herself and her goal.

The hiss of heavy, fast falling rain chased her like a wolf to its prey, down into the shallow valley and up behind her until the icy blanket smothered her. The skies darkened, thunder rolled and lightning flashed. Slipping as she tried to scramble to the summit, muddying her hands and knees in the sodden earth, she failed to notice the shadows on her tail.

Panting heavily, she stood and waited for the next levin* to illuminate her route and with relieved and heavy foot trudged slowly down the steep hill towards the pallid buildings she now saw before her.

A howl split the night in two.



*(Levin: - Lightning Flash)

Chapter 4

Fear tore at her. Rain blinded her. Thunder deafened her. Barely aware of what surrounded her, she sprinted down the hill. Her hair flailed wildly behind her, her sack gripped tight in one hand as she flew down the steep bank.

Lunging from his position, Carrows underwent the transformation from man to beast. When his paws touched the sludge, hardly a second had passed. Pelting after his fleeting prey he caught sight of his mate attempting to cut her off from the left. To his right the two younger full bloods, Williamson and Harvey, sped to aid their leader. There was no escape.

As the trap began to close in he could almost hear her heart pounding, her fretful scent having enticed him to increase his pace. But then, another full blood appeared with its snowy white fur stark against the shadow. Changing his course and barking a warning to his companions, he headed for the newcomer.

Hermione’s feet slipped from under her, sending her flailing to the mud. She skidded a few metres before coming to a halt. In the heartbeat before Hermione could drag herself back up, a white blur leapt clean over her. Rolling to her front, Hermione watched as a woman appeared where a wolf snarled. Fur melted back to flesh; bones cracked and altered. A slender, platinum blonde haired female stood challenging the four that now gathered around her.

“Be gone from here!” The wolf-woman snarled over the roiling skies. In a brief whirlwind, three men and a second woman stood, anger and hatred plastered over their faces.

“Traitor!” Rookwood, the second female, crouched ready to leap at her opponent. “Your lack of faith in the pack marks you for death!”

“I shall not be the one who dies; it is you Rookwood, who shall taste the steel of my claws this night!” A gunshot sounded behind Hermione. She watched as the two younger males recoiled. A second shot and one dropped howling and wailing. His flesh smoked around his shoulder and from a wound wine red blood poured. The white wolf-woman leapt, transforming in mid air, upon Rookwood. Carrows was quick to follow as he protected his mate.

A third gunshot. Hermione covered herself as the limp body of Harvey fell onto her. Hot liquid seeped down her neck, blood she knew was not her own. A squeal of pain shuddered through Hermione as she felt another drop.

“Trinia!” Carrows voice rang with sorrow. His mate lay dead. A snarl and a flash of claw greeted his momentary lapse from the white wolf-woman. Twisting away and pouncing at her throat with his teeth bared they rolled.

The weight of the corpse was lifted from her shoulder. A strong arm looped around her stomach and hoisted her up to her feet. Her knees quailed beneath her but before she could collapse into the filth and gore, she was thrown over a shoulder. Around her the world silenced, the impact of sprinting feet numbed. Her eyes fluttered closed and her body slackened.

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“You sent for me my Lord?” Lucius Malfoy bent on one knee before his master. The sheen of the veined black marble reflected Lucius’ features. His midnight cloak and robes hung around him, his silver braiding marking his rank of captain. Down his back his hair was neatly brushed and silky. His steely blue eyes fixed upon the back of the hooded Lord Voldemort.

The deep emerald green silk that adorned his body barely rustled as he spun on his heel to face his lesser. Lucius flinched and averted his gaze from the snake like face and red glaring eyes. Voldemort’s forked tongue tasted the air with a light hiss before he spoke.

“Luciussss, I trusssst all goessss well?” The volume never rose above a whisper but it reached Lucius’ ears in a shiver of revulsion. Lucius bowed his head in affirmation, his sights focused on the marble floor. The high, vaulted ceiling writhed with snakes, some undulating down the finely carved walls to the polished floor. An asp, black and oily sought out Lucius’ warm, pale flesh with a flicker of its tongue.

“Incredibly my Lord, why, even the-“

“Ssssilence,” Lucius gulped and held his tongue. Cold sweat began to bead on his forehead as his gaze met the unfathomable features of Voldemort. What does he want?

“And, are you…happy?” Voldemort spoke the word as if it pained him. In that small word a glimmer showed through of the sorrow the Dark Lord felt.

“I- I am my Lord,” Lucius hesitated, unsure as to the purpose behind the question.

“You have a beautiful wife do you not? And ssssevral mistressessss besides?”

“I do my Lord, I love my wife but sometimes she is not able to fulfil my…desires,” Lucius chose his words carefully, unfortunately, not carefully enough.

“Love? Love? Even evil can love, I have found, but I remain alone. Too grotesque for any woman to look upon without fear,” Voldemort advanced, his voice cracking from its hiss to a deep, commanding voice. The asp now only a few metres from Lucius’ booted feet. “I do remember there was one who looked at me with something else,”

Lucius frowned slightly, curious. Voldemort continued. “Every time I sign a death warrant, lift my wand to torture or take a life I see her face, see her eyes and the pity I found there. It is your job Lucius, to find her. I want my weaknesses where I can see them,” Voldemort turned and strode to his desk. He sat behind it and turned in his chair to face out of the window at the buzzing city below him.

“How my Lord? She could be anywhere by now, maybe even dead!” Lucius shouted before he could stop himself. He was being sent to his death, he could feel it, and as a captain of the multitudinous armies of the Dark Wizard he had everything to loose.

“SHE IS NOT DEAD!” Voldemort bellowed, shattering the glass before him with a wave of magic and sending the snakes on the ceiling into frenzy. “I have seen her through the eyes of a traitor. She is beyond the wall in a colony founded in a network of caves. Kill them but leave her unharmed. Bring her back here Lucius,” The black asp wound its way over Lucius’ shoe and up his trouser leg, curling around his limb as it went. Lucius’ eyes widened.

“If you do not return with her alive Hatshepsut will end your pitiful life for you,” As if hearing his words, the asp flicked its tongue against Lucius leg as a warning. “If you do not return with her at all then I will make you wish you’d never been birthed into this world, understand me Malfoy!”

“As- As clear as crystal my Lord,”

Chapter 5

Hermione was barely aware of the thick, rough woven blankets across her bare torso and legs. She could feel warmth to her left, the crackle of a fire. Its warmth seeped through the layers to her skin. The aroma of cooking meat filled her senses, her stomach grumbled. Then it came back to her; the wolves fighting; the blood seeping down her neck from the death of one of them; a strong arm…

Hermione bolted upright, clutching the blankets to her. The fire caused shadows to flicker, making it hard to discern what was in the room with her. In front was a window set into a white painted wall. Framed certificates hung, gathering dust while outside, the rain still hammered down. Above the fire to the left was a thick, carved mantelpiece, upon which an old carriage clock stood ticking gently. Just in front of the fire was a large fire guard, over which her clothing dried. To her right she could just make out the shadow of a desk, its papers strewn all over the floor. Further along the same right wall she could see a door, the firelight playing over the brass of the handle. She then examined her bed, which turned out to be a rich red sofa.

“Ah, you’re awake,” Hermione swung her legs over the side of the sofa and turned her head to look at the speaker in one fluid motion. A young man sat in an armchair, his legs stretched out in front of him and his feet crossed. He had his sandy coloured hair tied back with a strip of cloth into a pony tail, accenting his handsome face. He wore a pair of dark blue jogging bottoms and a white crew neck t-shirt. At his feet a muddied white sack lay open while in his hands he clutched a photo. His deep green eyes trained upon her face looked accusingly at her. “You’re a witch, aren’t you?”

Hermione remained silent. She surveyed him warily, unsure of his intentions. He sighed and dropped his gaze to the moving photo in his hand. “Where were you going?” He asked quietly, folding the picture and putting it back into the sack that Hermione now recognised as her own. Again, she said nothing. “Well, I’m Allard,” He put a hand to his chest and looked at her again. Allard stood abruptly, causing Hermione to flinch back from him. He put his hands up. “Whoa, I didn’t mean to scare you,” He smiled warmly. “I’ll be back in a minute, ok?” He walked steadily passed her to the office door and left, closing it behind him.

Checking behind her she darted forwards to her belongings which she noticed were still quite wet from their exposure to the rain. She dumped the contents out onto the sofa next to her and dropped the sack to the floor before hurriedly rearranging the blankets to cover her better. She pulled the three pictures from the pile and put them to one side. She began searching hurriedly through her clothes and the remnants of her meagre rations, tossing them to the floor when she did not find what she wanted. The map was gone, the chain and hourglass was missing. The door opened with a snick. Hermione turned abruptly to see Allard returned with a bundle of clothing.

“Here you are,” He put the clothes down next to her and frowned at the mess she had made. “Lose something?” He asked. He bent to tidy them but Hermione’s hand on his arm stopped him. He looked at her.

“My name is Hermione, and I am a witch,”

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The white wolf-woman hauled herself up from the thick mud. Her breath came in ragged gasps and pain lanced through her. Holding herself up with one hand, she reached tentatively for her stomach. The rain lashed down upon her quivering form, washing away any traces though it did not matter, she could smell her own blood in the coppery gore of the others. Shakily, she stood clutching her hands over the deep wound from Carrows and stumbled towards the looming buildings. There were people in there that could help her; that could help her cub.

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Narcissa Malfoy stood smiling over her child’s crib in her chambers. The night was clear of cloud, allowing the stars to shine brightly over the city. The baby slept peacefully, breathing steadily and slowly curling and uncurling his little fist. A smile played over Narcissa’s features, lighting them. The arms of her husband curled around her, his chin resting lightly o her shoulder.

“Narcissa, come and talk with me,” He spoke gently, taking her hand in his. She turned and together they stepped out of the child’s room and into a well lit sitting room. Leading her husband, she drew him down onto a black leather couch and sat facing him. He took her hand in his and lifted it to his lips, planting a soft kiss upon it.

“I am to leave at daybreak on a special mission,” He avoided her steely blue eyes and the pain that he knew lay within them. “I – I can’t refuse him,” A choked sob escaped her throat as the tears tracked runnels down her porcelain face.

“Where?” She moved to find his eyes with her own, despite her tear-blurred vision.

“Narcissa, I-“

“Where?” She asked fiercely, grabbing hold of his black robes. Lucius closed his eyes resignedly. He let out a breath before answering her.

“Over the wall,” Narcissa flung herself into his embrace as she let her sorrow overwhelm her. She knew her husband would never return to her side a hero as he was now. If he returned at all, he would be killed for harbouring such knowledge. If he didn’t return he would either be already dead or murdered by their master and some foul spell. He could not win.

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Hermione finished dressing in the fresh clothes Allard had given to her. The grey tinge of dawn was hardly visible through the heavy storm clouds but the carriage clock on the mantel gave her all of the information she needed to know. After her statement, Allard had fished the cooking food from the fire, taking care not to burn himself and had left it cooling on the hearth. He had turned and met her gaze, pausing before he strode wordlessly from the room. That had been over and hour ago. Since then, she had managed to eat the beans and ration-pack meat with her fingers, packed her belongings back into her sack and dressed, ready to leave as soon as the rain stopped.

Now only a steady patter of raindrops, Hermione was able to survey the surroundings from the office window. She was on a higher level looking out onto a large tarmac covered area that now lay several millimetres below the downpour and beyond that lay hills of high grasses flattened by the weather. Four shapes were visible on the lower levels of the nearest hill; the bodies of her attackers. But where was the fifth?

A scratching sound at the door to the office made her jump from her reverie and into a cautious stance. A tiny whine reached her ears as the scratching continued. Swallowing hard, she edged to the door. Her hand wrapped around the handle and turned it. The door swung forward a crack. Hermione looked down at a small shiny black nose and a pale paw scrabbling at the bottom of the door. Trembling, she pulled it open a fraction further. A cub with snowy white fur trotted into the room and sat on its haunches, looking up expectantly at her and wagging his little tail. Hermione frowned and cocked her head slightly. It let out a high pitched bark.

“I’m hungry,” Hermione looked wildly around for the source of the child’s voice. A giggle drew her attention to the cub. “Where’s my mother?”




More to come