Captured

Chapter Thirty-Six: Home

A/N: Just wanted to give another brief disclaimer at the start of this chapter, (spoiler: you're going to be seeing this in nearly every chapter now), that some of the quotes in this chapter are pulled straight from book seven, as there is again some overlap between canon and the fic here. Any quotes pulled from the book are not my writing, and not owned by me.

~.~.~

The horizon was cast in hues of rosy pinks and soft blues, bleeding into the rest of the slowly lightening navy sky as the sun began to creep towards the horizon.

She was wearing heavy, black robes and had already taken the polyjuice potion that transformed her into the subject of every recent nightmare of hers. She had made the mistake of looking in a mirror once already and being caught so off-guard, that she had spent the proceeding ten minutes curled up in a ball on the ground, struggling with the sudden panic attack. She had avoided every reflective surface from that point on as she made her way into the garden to meet Harry, Ron, and Griphook.

She had already transfigured Ron's features until he was wholly unrecognisable, and was clutching the invisibility cloak in her fist as they stared at each other. A feeling seemed to settle over their little group, standing in the garden, listening to the sea crash against the shore, that this was a turning point and once they left, they wouldn't be coming back here. At least, they wouldn't be coming back before the end of the war.

She didn't know how she knew, but some part of her simply did. She felt it in her bones like it was an irrefutable truth.

Whatever happened today, the tide would either be turned in their favour or they would fail and it would be over.

Harry glanced around at them all one more time before clearing his throat.

"Right then, shall we go?"

They nodded in unison, and Griphook climbed upon Harry's back before she tossed the invisibility cloak over the two of them. She found Harry's hand and squeezed Ron's on the other side of her, and before they could second-guess themselves, she turned on the spot.

They appeared on Charing Cross Road, and Hermione stared up at the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, overwhelmed with emotion as she remembered the last time they had been here, laughing and grabbing their school things as they discussed the upcoming term and visited the twins' shop. It had been dark then, a sense of unease lingering as they laid their eyes upon the destruction of shops like Ollivanders. But Dumbledore had been alive, there had been so much hope, so much surety that there was no way they would lose, no way Voldemort would actually come into power.

But there was no light here now. No laughter. No hope.

They didn't let themselves hesitate, moving almost immediately to make their way to the entrance to Diagon Alley behind the small pub.

Whispers followed them, floating over from the handful of patrons tucked into dark corners.

She was greeted by Tom, fear clear in his voice as he stuttered out "Madame Lestrange."

She tried to remember she was supposed to be Bellatrix, but instinctively responded, "Good morning," before internally kicking herself. She was sure Bellatrix had never wished a good morning upon a fellow witch or wizard ever, certainly not one she likely saw as being beneath her.

Tom's eyes widened in surprise and before he could say anything else, she moved on quickly, refusing to speak again until they were at Gringotts. She couldn't afford to be the reason they were discovered, she had to be better than that.

They made their way through the brick entrance and she froze.

She had never seen Diagon Alley so bleak. Even more storefronts were now darkened and empty than there had been the summer before their sixth year. She blanched as her eyes fell to the figures huddled along the sides of the cobblestone pathway, many taking cover in the abandoned storefronts as they begged for gold or help from the few shoppers making their way through Diagon Alley. She realised these were the witches and wizards that the ministry had deemed liars - muggleborns and blood traitors who had no one to help hide them when the ministry had come calling. This is where she would be, if she had never befriended Harry. Well, this or dead. Those lining the cobblestones were dressed in dirty rags, covered in dark bruises or an unlucky few in even worse injuries. She ached to help them, to heal their wounds and take them back to a safe house to ride out the rest of this war in peace.