When the Bell Tolls - Dramione

7.

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Crack.

Hermione's eyes snap open with the sound, the tips of her ears pulling back, up, or whatever direction might explain the pull she feels there. The vial of Polyjuice is already in her hand, and the cork tumbles down her chest before she throws it back.

She underestimated the difficulty of pulling her changing arms from the sleeves of her robes. For a blurry second, she's sure she'll never get it off, and it'll forever stay stuck about her elbows and the expanding width of her back. She hunches forward, shoving the robe back, and reaches into an inside pocket as soon as she clears an arm. It's too late, however, and there's a span of two pounding heartbeats where she almost pulls out the vial anyway. It slips from her hot palm as someone hauls her to her feet, and she wrenches her hand out of the pocket to fling off the rest of the robe.

She throws it towards Malfoy, giving him a significant look as she stumbles back a step. He looks conflicted or frantic as he stands with the robe in his hands, but he must know what she's looking at him for because she can see his shoulder push forward as he searches within the fabric.

There's not enough time. There's a hooded figure a step from Malfoy, and no way he'll be able to take the serum before they bind him or keep him under watch. Hermione shoves herself forward at the start of a spin from the person with a grip on her, breaking from their hold. They're reaching for her when she whirls to face them, and she shoves them hard enough for them to stagger. There are some situations where a person is afraid, and they think I can't, I can't. But Hermione knows war, and so she knows the feeling of terror, and she is brave. There is no I can't, there is only I must, I must. 

Someone grabs her from behind, and she throws an elbow back twice, a hrgh of air colliding with the back of her ear. The figure in front of her moves forward as she does, and she stomps on their foot, slamming palms into their chest. The candlelight illuminates clenched teeth in the darkness of the hood as someone grabs her arms, and she kicks out, her foot connecting with the kneecap of the person in front of her.

They cry out, a male voice, as their leg buckles and they fall in an ungrateful flying of limbs and body jerks. Hermione throws herself forward, but the grip on her arms yanks back. Her sense of gravity is lost somewhere in the rocking, and when the person behind her lets go, she has to whirl her arms for balance. The man in front of her stands with a heave of breath, and she takes a step back, only to be shoved forward.

The man grabs a fistful of her shirt, twisting it as he pulls her forward, and though she can see the fist flying at her, she doesn't comprehend it. Spells, balls of parchment, stray Bludgers, enchanted notes, sailing objects - these are things she knows and can prevent from hitting her. A fist is certainly not something she's encountered like this before, and there's a burst of shocked stillness in her unknowing that makes her do nothing more than freeze in place.

The knuckles collide with her cheekbone, and her head whips back and to the left. Numbness splinters out to consume her face, followed quickly by a shock of pain, and then burning skin. Her vision blinks out at the ceiling, coldness engulfs her, and then it's another ceiling altogether.

She releases a hiss of air, her mouth snapping shut at the teeth still bared in front of her. She's shoved back, and then turned in a hard jerk. The back of her leg hits something that scrapes, and she wraps her hand around the man's wrist, pushing it away from her, but his fingers are clenched. She stumbles back another step at the palm shoved into her chest, the back of her knees hitting a ledge, and then she falls with a pull at the back of her shirt.

Her bum hits hard against a chair, the grips releasing her, and she's immediately back on her feet. There's a part of her that wants to stay in the chair, calm and composed, but there's a larger part of her that can't stop the instinctive need to fight, escape, fightfight. She whips an arm out into the man's chest when he steps back towards her, and she ducks the first punch, punching out her own fist and hitting something that shocks her knuckles. She doesn't miss his second. It clips her jaw, reeling her back as red bursts in her vision, and she falls into the chair again. It tips on its legs, and she jerks the other way, the side of her face pounding in a burning ache.