Chapter Two

Run

Louder louder
And we'll run for our lives
I can hardly speak I understand
Why you can't raise your voice to say.

-         Snow Patrol, Run

Cold.

Dark.

Hard.

Sharp.

Pain.

Hermione woke to find herself half-buried in snow. Already, she could not feel her legs properly, except for the sharp, stinging pains that would shoot through them every few seconds. Groaning loudly, she braced her arms on either side of her and pulled herself out of the snow.

Once she was free, she looked around uncertainly. Where was she?

Under other circumstances, she might have been able to formulate a guess, but she couldn’t think properly. Too many thoughts were running through her head, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t keep them from taking over her.

“Happy Birthday.” Mum and Dad lying on the ground. The blood flowing from her wrists – it hurt so bad. Someone make it stop – and the lightning bolt hanging from the sky. “Miss Granger, I have noticed your…interesting choice of reading material.” “Hermione, He’s here! Run!” – a pair of arms pushed her out the door (Fred? George?) and locked it behind her – “You must never, under any circumstance attempt that spell.” She smelled smoke. Was that her house? That pile of brick and ash? “The consequences are severe.” “Time travel requires sacrifice.” “Hermione, you must listen to me. If anything should happen –” No, nothing would happen. (But it did.) “You could have joined me.” No, she couldn’t. Not after what he’d done. – Harry leaves the Riddle House in silence, and they are all afraid to ask what had happened – “The Dark Lord is gone!” (Except he wasn’t.) “Harry would never do anything like that!” (Except he did.) “And even then the results are unpredictable.” “Join me, Hermione.”

“Join me, Hermione.”

“Stop it!” Hermione screamed into the night.

No one replied.

She collapsed into the snow, hugging her knees and sobbing.

“I can fix it,” she told herself through her tears. “I am Hermione Granger. I can fix it. I can fix – I can fix any – I can fix anything.”

But she couldn’t fix herself enough to stop crying.

Then –

Snap.

She heard the tree branch snap as someone pushed it out of the way. She tensed, wand at the ready.

She could hear footsteps now, more then one pair. There was the sound of crunching snow and more branches being moved out of the way.

            Her eyes turned feral. She was terrified. What if the spell hadn’t worked? What if she had merely managed to transport herself to some foreign place? Or, what if she hadn’t done anything at all? What if He had caught her? What if she was now a pawn in a twisted new game of his?

            This thought was too much for her too bear, and as the two men came into view, she snapped and fired a hex.

            “Reducto!” she cried, forgetting to cast nonverbally. “Stupefy!”

            The two bodies hit the snow with a thump. She wasted no time, taking off running.

            She didn’t know where she was going, but she was to afraid to care. Was He after her? Were his Death Eaters lying in wait for her?

            Every shadowy bush or tight copse of trees looked like Harry and His followers ready to spring from the darkness and attack; every snagging tree limb or gnarled root was a hand trying to grab her. Unfortunately, Hermione was not at her most coordinated, and as a result, she tripped a number of times, often scraping her hands or knees on the sides of trees. However, she didn’t stop running, even when it seemed like she would die of exhaustion. No matter how hard she tried, she could not shake the fear that someone was after her.

            She had no idea how right (and wrong) she was, until she heard the unmistakable pop! that accompanied Apparition. 

            She screamed instinctively, falling backwards. She had just enough time to see a pair of concerned brown eyes looking down at her before her head collided with a tree trunk.

            Then, everything went black.

            To tell the truth, Fabian Prewett hadn’t expected to find anything when he Apparated to the small forest. He knew that none of the other Aurors thought so, either, or else he wouldn’t have been assigned to search the location. With the uproar that had been occurring at the Ministry when he left, and the rumor floating around the Departments that Dumbledore himself had personally asked Minister Bagnold to order the mission, he knew there was no way the higher-ups would have assigned a likely location to a rookie. They would want the glory for themselves, and besides, there was the constant fear that seemed prevalent among the more experienced Aurors that one of the new recruits would mess something up. Personally, Fabian thought it was more likely that Auror Moody would cause some damage – one of these days, someone was going to go deaf with the words “constant vigilance!” ringing in his or her ears.

            With this in mind, then, it was understandable that he was surprised when he found tracks in the snow. At first, he had thought his mind was playing tricks on him, and they were really animal prints. But then he took a closer look, and saw the clear marks left behind by bare feet in the snow; heel and toes pressed firmly down, with a small, faint impression where the arch would be.

Brows knitting together in a frown, Fabian studied the footprints. Whoever had made them had been walking very erratically. The prints were all over the place, cutting extremely close to some nasty looking thorns and trees. He had a feeling that the person was long gone, but it was still his duty to check things out.

Before he moved to follow the tracks, however, he pulled his wand out and cried, “Expecto Patronum!” 

A sleek silver fox, impossibly large, erupted from the end of his wand. It stared up at him intelligently, cocking its head as if it were waiting for directions. He crouched down in the snow and began to whisper in its ear. When he was finished, the Patronus gave a short nod and took off, running with supernatural speeds until it was nothing more then a silver blot in the distance.

Now confident that his brother, Gideon, would meet him as soon as possible, Fabian set off following the prints. As he walked – almost getting hit in the head twice by a pair of low-hanging branches – Fabian began to have a feeling that he knew where the person was going.

He’d spent some time in these woods before. It was inevitable if you spent time with the Potters, which his family frequently did. He, Gideon, and James had often snuck into these woods to play self-invented games on broomsticks between the trees while their parents talked. Consequently, he knew most of the paths going through the forest; in some cases, he’d even made them himself, using the Reductor Curse to clear branches and other plant lifeout of the way.

This knowledge came in handy, now. If he was right (and he didn’t want to think of what would happen if he wasn’t), then he was somewhere in the Northeast corner of the forest surrounding the Potter’s manor. Luckily, this was the part of the forest that was closest to the house, and therefore the thinnest part. There was only one path – if it could be called that – cutting through the dense layer of undergrowth, and so far, the person he was tracking hadn’t veered from it.  

Maybe this won’t be so hard, he thought.

A small smile grew on his face as he walked, and he began to fantasize about finding this mysterious person. His family would be so proud, especially Molly and Gideon. Of course, the others would be, too, but he’d always been the closest to them, even after Molly had to go and get married. Dumbledore would be pleased, too, and that would mean he’d done something good for the Order. Maybe that’d stop Moody from muttering about letting “children” into the organization.

Then he walked into a tree, and decided that maybe the fantasies should be put off until after he’d caught the person.

Gideon Prewett was tired. He’d just got off an eight-hour shift doing watch around the Auror Training compound, and his partner had been none other then little Henry Dawlish, who had never quite forgiven him for turning the Hufflepuff Common Room red and gold after a particularly smashing defeat in Quidditch. (370 – 0, if he remembered correctly.)

So when the large silver fox walked through his window and padded up to him, Gideon had half a mind to tell it to sod off. Of course, he knew he couldn’t do that; he’d swore an oath, to never turn down an offer for help from one of the Order. His colleagues, he thought, and felt a momentary swell of pride. It never ceased to amaze him that the Headmaster had thought he was good enough to join the fight against Voldemort – even Fabian had to wait until he’d completed his Auror training.

And speaking of Fabian…

“Oh, all right,” he muttered to himself. “Just don’t go waking anyone up,” he hissed to the fox, taking a quick glance around the bedroom he shared with two other Aurors-In-Training. Thankfully, Kingsley Shacklebolt had replaced him on watch and Frank slept like a log.

The fox leapt onto his bed gracefully, and curled into a ball. It lifted its head and looked up at him. Gideon grabbed his wand from the nightstand and held it to the fox’s head. He pulled it away, pulling a long silvery strand of something from it. He held it to his own head.

Immediately, the message began to play in his mind. He nodded to the fox and watched as it disappeared. Forehead wrinkling in thought, he quickly conjured his own Patronus and gave it a message for the Headmaster. Then, he stood and grabbed his cloak from the edge of his bed. It was a cold night, and he would have to sneak out of the compound before he could Apparate without his name, time of departure, and destination being logged for eventual scrutiny by one of the desk-types in Magical Law Enforcement.

And all so I can freeze my arse off in the wood, he grumbled to himself.

Of course he knew it was a bit more important then that, but it didn’t make him feel any better – especially once he was out in the cold.  

He narrowly escaped detection by Shacklebolt by ducking behind a box marked “Wand Holsters – Holman Dormitory” and was soon out of the compound. Cursing his brother the entire time, he pulled his cloak around his body tightly and began to sprint until he was out of sight of the watch.

Once he was far enough away, he pulled his wand out of his jeans (where he continued to put it, even after Dawlish accidentally blew a buttock off during Concealment and Disguise) and Apparated to the location the fox had given him.

Like his brother, Gideon knew the spot remarkably well. However, he was not expecting to find a blood-covered witch to be running straight at him. She let out a blood-curling scream and fell backwards, her head colliding against a nearby tree with a sickening crack!

“Well,” Gideon muttered to himself as he hurried over to check on her. “Seems the prat was right after all.”

He quickly lit his wand and held it up to her body.

“Merlin,” he whistled. “Someone’s done a right number on her.”

It was true. Scratches, bruises, scrapes, or dried blood covered almost every inch of skin he could see. What little hadn’t been injured in some way, had acquired a slight blue tinge, probably from the cold. Most of the injuries looked like they could be healed with the help of a skilled MediWitch, but there were two large smears of blood on her wrists, and even splattered down the front of her rather short nightdress (what had she been thinking? That was clearly meant for summer use only) that worried him. He couldn’t clearly see the injury, if there was one, and was afraid to try any spells on her.

Auror Recruits learned very little of Healing, and what they were taught came at the end, after the basic offensive and defensive magic had already been mastered. However, they all knew not to interfere with a reasonably stable patient unless there was no alternative. After having been treated to several lectures from guest Healers, Gideon now knew all the reasons why…Doing anything without “the proper knowledge” (Healer Smethwyck was a pompous little git) could have all sorts of nasty consequences. After quickly appraising the area, Gideon decided it would be best if he simply left the girl as she was and stood guard over her; he was a bit leery about trying any magic with her bleeding so heavily. There was no telling what could happen.

He would have to limit his magic use around the witch, then. His mind made up, Gideon extinguished his wand and did three things in quick succession. He summoned his Patronus and sent it to Dumbledore with as detailed a message as he could bring himself to think of. Then, he conjured a portable, water-proof fire and set it on top of the snow between him and the witch. Lastly, he cast an Impervius Charm on his cloak – he really did not want to hear what Fabian would have to say if he started walking around with a great big wet spot on his arse.

His tasks completed, he started humming a Hobgoblins song to himself and waited for his brother to arrive.

It was around three o’clock when Fabian finally showed up. He was panting slightly, and Gideon noticed a long tear in his sleeve.

“Oi,” he nodded. “What happened to you?”

Fabian grimaced. “Ran into a nasty little hinkypunk down where that little bog is.”

Gideon winced in sympathy. “Vicious little blighters, aren’t they?”

Fabian nodded. Then, he noticed the crumpled heap of blood and robes lying not too far from the fire.

“What the bloody - ” the Auror caught himself just in time. “Did you find her, then?”

Gideon chuckled mirthlessly. “In a matter of speaking, yes.”

He quickly recounted his “meeting” with the witch, concluding with his decision not to use magic around her.

Fabian nodded. “Yeah, Dumbledore told me about that last bit.” Off his brother’s questioning look, he explained. “He sent his reply to your message to me, instead. That’s how I got distracted enough to follow the hinkypunk. We’re to wait here until the Harold Potter arrives to help transport her.”

“When’ll that be?” Gideon asked immediately. “D’you know?”

“It’s supposed to be around 3:30, when he gets off duty,” was the reply. “Which is in about…twenty minutes.”

The two brothers sat in the snow together (Gideon noted with some satisfaction that Fabian hadn’t remembered to charm his cloak) and discussed various matters they would have to deal with.

“Of course,” Fabian was saying. “We’re all going to have to pretend that we didn’t find anything, or the Ministry will want to get their hands on her, for whatever reason.”

“What is that reason, anyway? Why is Dumbledore so keen to find this girl? And why didn’t he mentioned her before?”

“Dunno. S’pose we’ll just have to wait and find out. Whatever the reason is, we definitely don’t want the public finding out.”

Gideon nodded. “Is that why we’re taking her to the Potters?”

“Yeah – everyone knows what’s going on at Hogwarts. You remember how fast gossip spreads there, and with all the students staying for the holidays, Dumbledore didn’t want to risk it.”

Gideon chuckled mirthlessly.

“No,” he agreed. “I expect not – especially with half the Slytherins mysteriously choosing to stay. Mark my words, most of them have to be following Voldemort’s orders.”

“Or Bellatrix Lestrange’s,” Fabian added. “Like as not, they’re probably too stupid to know who they’re really helping.”

“I don’t know,” his brother said. “That bunch are smarter then the ones who were in our years – don’t you remember old what’s-his-name? Snivellus or something?”

“The little greasy-haired one James and Sirius always complain about?” Fabian said slowly. “Skinny, big nose…that the one?”

“Yeah. He probably knew more curses his first year then I did in fifth.”

“Well, brother, Molly always did say you were a bit slow…” Fabian let his sentence trail off with a mocking grin.

“Why, you –  ” Gideon exclaimed, following up with a few words that would have made their sister furious.

  A few minutes later, Harold Potter Apparated in front of them.

“Do I want to know?” he asked, surveying the scene before him.

“No,” Fabian said grumpily, beneath his grinning brother.

Gideon, who was sitting on top of the Auror after a brief wrestling match, twirled his wand in his hand and asked, “How do we know it’s really you?”

Harold rolled his eyes and said, “My favorite candies are sherbet lemons,” using the Order-approved security question.

Gideon got off his brother and stood up.

“Good to see you, Mr. Potter,” he said.

“Yeah,” Fabian agreed, still on the ground.

“So, how are we going to do this?” Fabian asked a few minutes later, after they had all hashed out stories to give the Ministry.

“You were right not to use magic on her,” Mr. Potter said, looking at the girl critically. “I’m almost certain that there’s something not quite right about her injuries. She shouldn’t be alive if all that blood is hers.”

Gideon shrugged. “Dumbledore will see everything sorted.”

Mr. Potter gave a noncommittal grunt before returning to the matter at hand. He reached into the pocket of his cloak and withdrew three miniature broomsticks.

“Don’t let James and Sirius know about this,” he muttered sheepishly, enlarging the brooms. “We couldn’t find brooms that’d keep up with mine on such short notice – not without alerting the Ministry.”

The other two nodded.

“I’ll fly in front of you,” Mr. Potter continued. “You two are probably about even when it comes to flying, if what my son has to say is true. Just don’t fly too fast, or she’ll fall out of the stretcher.”

Stretcher? Gideon wondered. Then he noticed the thick piece of white cloth magically suspended between the rooms he recognized as James’s and Sirius’s. Oh.

“We’ll have to fly high,” Fabian said, looking up at the clear sky. “There isn’t much cloud cover.”

Surprisingly, Mr. Potter shook his head. “No, don’t worry about that. There’s no one around for miles besides Abby and James. We can’t risk her catching something in the cold.”

That settled, the three men managed to move the stranger into the stretcher, binding her arms and legs to the broomsticks with rope. It was a lengthy process, as there was no easy way to move her without touching one wound or the other.

While they worked, Gideon asked, “Where’s Sirius?”

“Eh?” Mr. Potter said absently.

“I thought he was staying with you,” he explained. “But you said only Aunt Abigail and James were around.”

“Oh,” the older wizard said when they had finished. “Sirius is at his Uncle Alphard’s funeral. It hit him hard; seems he actually liked one of his relatives besides Andromeda.”

Fabian snorted. “Maybe because the Blacks disowned Alphard, too.”

            “That’d explain it.”

            It was around four o’ clock when they finally took off, and almost five when they actually reached the Potter manor.

As soon as they landed, they were met outside by a very harried Abigail Potter.

“Are you alright?” she asked immediately. “Did everything go according to plan?”

“Yes, dear,” Harold said, leaning down to give his wife a kiss.

Abigail sighed with relief. Not all of the tension left her, though. On the contrary, it seemed like her worry for her husband was replaced by something else. What it was, Gideon did not know. He couldn’t help but feel curious, however.

Mrs. Potter ushered them inside, cautioning them all to be very quiet, as if they needed reminded.

“I had Bitsy make up a room for her,” she whispered. “Dumbledore dropped by and warned me.”

This time, Gideon was sure she looked anxious. What had the Headmaster told her? he wondered. They reached the room before he could ask, and afterwards, he was too tired to do much more then collapse into one of the beds the Potters generously offered.

His last memory was of Mr. Potter telling him that he’d invent an excuse to tell his superiors at the Auror Training Compound. After that, there was nothing but blissful sleep.