Grandloves//Tomarry

38

Hermione leaves in the night, silent and quick, darting past the Order members with little fanfare; it is not her they are concerned for, she they are watching closely for every second of the day. It's not her they fret over endlessly into the night, in furtive hushed whispers around the kitchen table, arguing over everything; should they have let her get her own place? Should they start talking about her place in the war? Does she even have one?

She's only sixteen, someone would say, Sirius perhaps.

But Dumbledore said he had a specific task for her, someone else would respond. And she is the chosen one.

And what of the prophecy? Another would ask. We all heard it. How are we supposed to expect a young girl to be able to defeat the dark lord?

Perhaps the prophecy is wrong... Perhaps there is another way.

And on it continued.

She slips past them easily enough, crumpling the letter in her hand.

Malfoy has finally responded to her; she has an hour before the hole in the wards of Malfoy Manor will close.

She apparates to the front gates, swallowing when the fidelius melts away before her eyes, revealing perhaps the most beautiful mansion she's ever seen. The yard unfurls into the summer night; she can hear the soft lilt of fountains in the distance, distilled against the palatial columns of the house.

She gathers her courage, sets her shoulders, and opens the gates. It feels as if it takes an eternity before she finally reaches the grand staircase to the enormous front doors.

She doesn't quite knock when the door abruptly swings wide open, making her jump.

She looks up, surprised, staring up into the equally shocked face of Professor Snape.

"Miss Granger," her former Potions Professor intones, settling back into a laudable indifference. "My felicitations; I had not expected to see you until next term."

Hermione nods, utterly terrified and trying not to show it.

"Yes, me either," she replies, quickly, "lovely to see you professor... But if you'll excuse me I'm afraid I am in quite a bit of a hurry—

She doesn't give him time to respond, darting past him and into the magnificent sprawling marble interior of Malfoy Manor. She takes a corner immediately, even though she's no idea where she's going.

Hermione curses herself; why the hell didn't she ask Malfoy for a map? She certainly needs one in this monstrosity of a house.

"My, my, are you lost, little girl?"

Hermione stills, something cold shooting up her spine in fear. She turns around slowly; Bellatrix Lestrange is appraising her with gleaming dark eyes, leaning against the banister of the stairs behind her. She glances at her watchfully, eying the woman's eye with great concern.

"Did you lose your way? Or were you, perhaps, looking for something?" She coos, stalking down the stairs ever so slowly.

Hermione takes a step back. "No," she replies, unsteady. "I'm fine."

"Is that so?" Bellatrix makes a great show of sniffing the air. "I don't think you belong here, little girl. I can smell it in the air—the filthy muggle blood."

She's reached the bottom of the staircase. "And I think it's coming from you—

"Bellatrix," Interrupts a harsh voice from the right, stilling the woman's wand.

It is Snape, looking between them with an impassive expression.

"What, Severus?" Bellatrix snaps, never once looking away from her. "I'm a bit busy right now, if you hadn't noticed."