Hermione Granger

Her face is shrouded, hidden in the folds of her cloak and hood. She hobbles and her footsteps are quiet - so quiet, in fact, that Hermione can barely hear them at all. Only the swish of fabric brushing the floorboards beneath them whispers, mingled with their deep breaths (hers and Ron's and Harry's) and the occasional squeak of wood disagreeing with the sudden weight of three extra bodies.

There is a foreign odour in the air, something so pungent it makes Hermione's nose prickle. It's terrible - a sharp, sour scent that reaches her tongue. And it is everywhere, soaked right into the woodwork and the peeling wallpaper.

Hermione tugs on Harry's arm but he doesn't seem to notice her at all. She might as well yell in his ear, for all the good it would do. His bright green eyes are focused solely on the woman leading them through the hall of her dusty old house. Behind her, Ron mumbles something about the smell.

She is Bathilda Bagshot and as far as Hermione is concerned, she is their best chance at finding the sword of Gryffindor - and the other horcruxes. (Now, she isn't too sure.)

A moment later, Bathilda stops where she is. She beckons towards a door, waving a pale bony hand. She hisses again and in a voice that sounds far off, Hermione can hear herself say: 'Harry, I'm not sure about this.'

Harry's body doesn't turn or shift at all, but an echoed voice rings back, 'Look at the size of her; I think we could overpower her if we had to -' before the door opens on its' own accord.

And then there's a loud hiss and the crack of a wand being snapped into pieces, bits of wood flying every which way. Hermione immediately drops to her knees, arms over her head while she peeks through the bushy curls of her hair for any sign of her best friends.

'Harry! Ron!' she cries. 'Harry, where are you -'

A series of dimly lit faces suddenly appear, surrounding her in a claustrophobic circle, closing in on her shrinking figure. Each one of them is wearing a mask made of bone.

'Looking for your friends?' one of them asks, his voice deep with sinister mirth. He tears off his mask and it clatters to the ground but there is no smile on his face. Not even the slightest twitch.

Through her hair, she nods her head. She can feel entire body grow cold as she attempts to look away.

'Weasley's right here,' the leading Death Eater says calmly, pulling a shorter figure forward by the collar, his entire body limp, rather like a heavy ragdoll. His red hair is plastered to his pale skin, the freckles on face all the more prominent.

Hermione gasps. 'Let him go!' she calls out, feebly.

'Oh, we will.'

The rest happens so quickly, a blur of colour and light and pain before her eyes.

Ron awakes, eyes snapping open to reveal a desperate, ripping fear that shakes her very resolve. 'Get out of here, Hermione! Get out!' he yells.

'Wait, Ron -'

And just like that, with no warning, the loud and confident shout of the killing curse (Avada Kedavra!) fills the room with a flash of light and death. Hermione watches Ron fall.

'Your turn, Granger.'

But she wants to know where Harry is. What'll happen to him? Will he know this was their end?

'No,' she says, shaking her head, scrabbling for an escape plan. Her eyes spill tears until she can barely see. She squeezes them shut, repeating over and over, 'No, no, no, no, no...' until behind her eyes, she can make out a bright light.



She is thrust from her nightmare, gasping.

Next to her, awake for his night-shift, Harry turns.

'Hermione? Are you all right?' he asks.

'Ah, Mafalda! Travers sent you, did he?'

'Y-yes.'

'Good, you'll do perfectly well. That's that problem solved, Minister, if Mafalda can be spared for record-keeping we shall be able to start straight away.' Umbridge pauses to consult her clipboard. 'Ten people today and one of them the wife of a Ministry employee! Tut, tut ... even here, in the heart of the Ministry! We'll go straight down, Mafalda, you'll find everything you need in the courtroom. Good morning, Albert, aren't you getting out?'

'Yes, of course.'

---

'No, no, I'm half-blood, I'm half-blood, I tell you! My father was a wizard, he was, look him up, Arkie Alderton, he's a well-known broomstick designer, look him up, I tell you - get your hands off me, get your hands off -'

'This is your final warning. If you struggle, you will be subjected to the Dementor's kiss.'

---

'That's - that's pretty, Dolores.'

'What? Oh yes - an old family heirloom. The "S" stands for Selwyn ... I am related to the Selwyns ... indeed, there are few pure-blood families to whom I am not related ... a pity that the same cannot be said for you. Parents' professions: greengrocers.'

---

'Get the Horcrux.'

'- Hermione, how do I get rid of these chains?'

'Wait, I'm trying something up here -'

'Hermione, we're surrounded by Dementors!'

'I know that Harry, but if she wakes up and the locket's gone - I need to duplicate it ... Geminio! There ... that should fool her ...'

She rushes down the steps.

'Let's see ... Relashio!'

'I don't understand.'

'You're going to leave here with us. Go home, grab your children and get out, get out of the country if you've got to. Disguise yourselves and run. You've seen how it is, you won't get anything like a fair hearing here.'

'Harry, how are we going to get out of here with all those Dementors outside the door?'

'Patronuses. As many as we can muster; do yours, Hermione.'

'Expec - expecto patronum -'

---

'Come on!'

'Reg, I don't understand -'

'Let go, I'm not your husband, you've got to go home!'

'LET'S GO!'