Chapter 2
Pain.
Bright. Burning.
Oxygen filled her chest, igniting the flame that resided in her lungs. Gods, it hurt!
Hermione’s caramel eyes shot open to an empty night sky and onto the understanding that that she was still alive. Despite the fact it felt like someone reached into her chest and began burning her heart with a candle, she was alive. They were--
Harry!
The bushy haired witch jerked upright, clutching her chest with one hand as she began frantically looking for the dark-haired boy. Panic was starting to seep into her veins. She took in their surroundings as she continued her search, but the image was foreign. She didn't know where she was or how she had gotten there. How had they escaped?
The last thing she remembered was being hit by the killing curse, but how was she alive? Hermione attempted to shake away the thoughts clouding her mind, each passing by too quickly to clearly lock onto, each laced with panic.
Her hands dropped to the ground and began the search for her-- Bellatrix’s-- wand. The thought that they might be exposed terrified her, especially if she was unable to defend herself. Every second without a wand was a second closer to death. There was blood painting the once green grass red but that was not a new information, Dolohov had her practically drowning in it minutes-- hours? -- ago.
Relief filled Hermione’s soul as her trembling fingers wrapped around the handle of the wand. The weight on she shoulders lifted in the slightest, knowing that she had a weapon in her hands once more. The wand pulsed in her hands, welcoming her return.
Slowly Hermione rose off the ground, ignoring the pain in her chest so she could lift the wand into a defensive position. Her eyes flashed across the field, searching, only to find nothing except the empty landscape of the forbidden forest.
How did they manage to get here, of all places?
There were no spells lashing against the echo of the lake. No distant castle on fire with a smell that distinctly reminded her of camp fire. It was like... the battle had never happened.
Honey eyes searched the ground, looking for clues-- for anything.
The shimmer of blood reflecting against the moon’s glow was the first thing to catch her eye. Her brow rose slowly, her gaze darting across the field and searching for possible answers. It could be a trap, but she needed to know, needed to find Harry, and if this blood had any chance of leading her to him than she had to take it.
Hermione began a slow pace down the trail marked by copper fluid, her wand raised high ready for anything that might occur. A sharp throb shot against her skull and her vision swam in the aftershocks making her stumble into the closest tree.
Hermione dug her knuckles into the bark, demanding stability until the sensitive flesh tore. Her pain didn't matter, the only thing that mattered was finding Harry. She had to make sure he was alive, that he was okay. Hermione pushed herself from the trunk with a determined shove.
Yes, getting him to safety was her first priority.
She was not expecting the reality or possibilities of the trail she was following. She should have. The evidence of blood only had two possibilities. The contents of her stomach bubbled against the back of her tongue. The site was grotesque, the very sight brought tears to her eyes.
Laying in a pool of blood was the only family she had left ... what was left of him.
Harry was battered, his body twisted and broken from whatever landed them at their current coordinates. Her face twisted in horror as the scene began to remind her of the time Susan Bones splinched her leg off during their apparition testing.
Splinching… how was that possible, they hadn’t apparated. Her eyes swooped across the forest in an uneasy manner and her stomach dropped. Did they?
Hermione shook her head violently before she scrambled to Harry’s side. Her mind raced through every medical text she could possibly think of. Where does someone even start when someone’s hand has become completely severed?
Check if their alive first, of course.
She cursed herself for the panic that shaking her bones, unwilling to admit she was scared what this simple act could possibly prove. Sucking in a deep breath, Hermione forced herself to press her fingers against his jugular pleading to any god that could hear her to find his pulse.
Tears stabbed bitterly at the corners of her eyes before a faint throb flooded her system with solace. He was alive-- she wasn’t alone.
Hermione sniffed back her inner turmoil and tightened her jaw. Her warm eyes shut for a millisecond, regaining her calm that was lost the second she saw Harry. She had to come to grips with his state. A second longer and he could bleed to death. The deep breath eased from her lungs before time righted itself around her.
She couldn’t waste any more time.
Hermione shrugged the jacket from her shoulder and wound the fabric between her fingers until the material ripped under the pressure. Then yanked again, creating a strip with the capability of tying off the circulation of his arm at the elbow.
Hermione didn't have a huge repertoire for this kind of magic. She only ever learned the basics of healing, she read about lots… but attempted none. She didn't even know where to start with this amount of blood loss. Her mind raced for a solution while she frantically reached into her bag, looking for a blood replenishing potion.
She was wasting time. She could practically hear Ron yelling-- demanding to know if she was a witch or not.
“Accio Blood Replenishing potion.” The bottle twinkled daintily against the starry night until she snatched it from the air. Her lips quirked to one side, part of her mind was relishing the fact that she had proven Voldemort wrong, she hadn’t failed and Harry was going to live.
She was going to make sure of that.
The cork gave a satisfying pop when she unbottled the substance. The burgundy looked black, like she had just uncorked a liquid death. She swallowed dryly as she pressed the liquid against his lips until it emptied, then massaged his throat gently until the liquid coaxed its way down his throat.
Thankfully the potion would take effect within minutes, but she had to stop the source of the bleeding, or all this hard work wouldn't matter.
Unfortunately, there was one way she knew to solve this problem, and it was going to test every moral she had left.
“I’m so sorry Harry” She whispered softly against the wind, part of her wishing for his forgiveness even though he could not speak it.
Hermione hated what she was about to do, but there was no other option. Hesitantly she straddled Harry's bicep and planted her knees firmly on the ground. She reached out and pressed the weight of her free arm into his elbow. Her wand lifted slowly, and dread filled her heart as it landed on the mutilated flesh which had once been Harry’s wrist.
“Incidio” It was a weak sound that sucked her guts into an ugly twist. The smell of burning flesh hit her instantly, provoking her nausea further as the flames licked up his skin. The flames worked quickly, searing the wound shut, but his screams of agony had an apology falling from her lips, over and over, like the words of a hymen.
Harry bucked beneath her, his remaining hand digging into her hip as he attempted to get away. A wet hiccup fell from her mouth as tears painted her cheeks for forcing him to bear such pain. Hermione hated the fact she couldn’t grant him his plea for mercy, she couldn’t stop until the wound was closed-- until the blood stopped.
The tears fell harder when Harry went still under her. His body finally opted for unconsciousness; the pain too unbearable for his fragile mind. She was doing this to him… she was the one causing him so much pain that his body could no longer process it. Hermione felt disgusted with herself, she never wanted her friends to be at the receiving end of her wand but here she was-- burning Harry Potter until he could no longer handle the pain.
She sniffed and bit down on her cheek for allowing those thoughts into her head. She was doing this to save his life. She was doing this for good reasons. She wasn’t turning dark or being malicious. She was saving him.
The majority of the bleeding had stopped but -- Her lips creased with worry. A deep gouge carved his right cheek, running from the bridge of his nose to his jaw. It was deep, biting deep enough to the muscle that it probably nicked bone.
Curses fell from her lips as she scanned every wound on the poor boy’s body. Her lack of knowledge in healing had almost lost Harry his, and quite possibly her own, life. This whole situation would have been much easier had she known how to properly use the complicated healing spells. Unfortunately she wouldn’t be able to prevent the scarring, but she could at least help the healing process.
The white glow of Episkey rippled from the wand in her hand and began, partially, stitching the wound close.
An exhausted sigh fell from Hermione’s lungs as she fell backward, releasing Harry’s arm as she took perch next to his sleeping form. She started to take in their surroundings to make sure their location was secure. Harry’s agonizing screams should have led dozens of death eaters to their location.
Yet, there were none.
Hermione worried her lips as she strained to stand again. Instincts from a year in hiding demanded that she set up a parameter-- to ensure their safety before she continued with bandaging Harry's wounds… or even take care of her own.
Her magic swept around them, forming a tight bubble that reminded her of a thick blanket: a reassuring thrum of sanctuary. She closed her eyes, her movements following predetermined maneuvers that had been programmed into her mind this past year. It kept them alive, and in times like this, that was all that mattered. The spell locked into place with a distinct hum that brought peace to her chaotic mind.
Hermione pivoted, returning her attention to the dark-haired boy on the ground. His breathing was labored, more than likely induced by pain his body was attempting to process. She moved forward and hooked her fingers around the strap of her beaded bag while she began mumbling a diagnostic spell over him. There was no internal bleeding, thank Merlin, but he had a few broken ribs. It was a small blessing, but a blessing nonetheless because she didn't have the medical knowledge to treat internal bleeding.
With Harry’s condition stabilizing, Hermione finally turned her attention towards her own wounds. The diagnostic spell danced across her skin like the flick of a feather against nerves. Despite the pain in her chest and a dislocated rib, she seemed to be intact. She certainly fared better than Harry, but still, check was probably the best route. She could only imagine what damage her adrenaline could be masking.
Fire flickered across her ribcage, screaming for attention until Hermione gasped. She instantly knew something else had to be wrong. She pulled her shirt up, yanking the fabric over her shoulder in order to find the source of her trauma. Shock froze her veins in place when the sight of gold melted into her skin. Black sand and dried blood swirled gently in a cracked hourglass that had become embedded in the hollow of her chest.
“Fuck.”
Hermione instantly knew what had happened. The killing curse had done its job, the magic behind it was powerful-- pure. It was death in magical form. The magic had done exactly what she hoped it would and hit the makeshift Time Turner. It had been on her for months, secretly sitting above her breasts while it absorbed the magic around them.
When all the time turners had been destroyed, Hermione had taken it upon herself to make one. At first it had just been a challenge to herself, a way to keep her mind occupied while the memory of Tom Riddle hissed into her ears. It was not until Harry had found out about the device, that a plan had emerged.
Well it had been a backup, really. They thought they knew the outcome of the war back then. They assumed that they would win because… that's what heroes did, right? They saved the wizarding world.
How ignorant they had been, how naive and stupid-- But that was the past. They were still alive, they were still fighting.
Her fingers dropped to the golden contraption that had melted into her flesh. The edges looked blistered, angry, and sore… as she had thought before, the adrenaline was keeping the majority of the pain from her senses. Her angle kept her from really seeing full devastation that had become her chest.
Hermione huffed out of frustration before she cleared her throat and pushed the mud caked hair from her face. “First things first,” She huffed to herself softly, a habit she had taken up while taking shifts. It was easier to get through the loneliness when she had someone to talk to, even if it was herself... and a bloody locket. “Have to get out of the elements.”
She snagged her shirt from the forest floor and pulled it back over her head. It, thankfully, hid the damage from her eyes. Something foreign to her own flesh and blood had made itself a home in her sternum and everything about that was distracting.
With a quick flick of her wrist the tent tumbled from her bag and began putting itself together.
Hermione swayed on the spot, her head spinning like the world’s rotation was gaining speed. She felt drained, somehow that simple act had sucked her magic dry. She shook her head, willing the haze to fall from her eyes.
No. She pinched her brows together and ground her heels into the ground stubbornly. She wasn’t going to let this mess get the best of her. Hermione began drawing in cool breaths, each slower than the last. Her shoulders slumped and the dizzy haze lifted enough for her to function.
She moved towards Harry, knowing full well that she could no longer rely on her magic. She was far too drained. A sigh fell from her lips as she snaked her arms under his armpits and locked her hands above his rib cage.
“Sorry, Harry…” She puffed a strand of fallen hair from her eyes. “This might hurt a bit.”
Dragging Harry inside the tent caused more strain on her body then she first anticipated. She hadn’t felt so weak before. Her head tilted to the side as she watched the breath slowly rise and fall from the confines of Harry’s chest. Something felt strange but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
Harry looked fine, so what could it be?
Frustration puffed from her chest the longer the question went unanswered and the fact her jeans were beginning to slip, even the slightest, down her hips made the situation far more annoying than it should be. This past year they have been surviving on scraps, so it was no surprise that her clothes were beginning to loosen.
When they slipped again she looked down in agitation, ready to lose her temper at the fabric but instead she choked. So many things looked wrong. No. No. No!
Hermione went racing for the mirror, her hands fisted in the beltline of her jeans to keep the fabric from falling off her hips entirely. She skidded to a stop, her mind pleading for any other possibility than the one she knew was correct. The mirror showed no mercy.
She looked like she was eleven again and there was so much wrong with that picture.
A quiver began racking her nerves, travelling through extremities until she crumpled under the weight. The little girl in her reflection fell with her, the same shock painted across her face. To her horror, Hermione realized that it was really her behind that glass.
Her depleted magic. Her muscle weakness… it all made sense now. Her magical abilities yet to fully mature, they were nothing more than the puddle left remaining from an ocean taken by tide. She also did not have the need for muscle mass when she was twelve, she didn’t have two years' worth of battle-hardened muscles backing her up.
She lifted her shirt up once more and eyed the gold and hourglass molded into her skin. The black sand stood frozen, the majority of it remained on the upper half but, if she had to guess, about twelve minutes sat at the bottom of the glass.
“Fuck.” She cringed at the sound of her voice. It was alien to her ears, a sound she had forgotten over years of reformation. Her eyes flashed towards Harry, scanning the boy for any differences but there was none to find. “Okay.” Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose and breathed herself through the rising panic. “You can figure this out, Hermione.”
A sigh fell softly from her lips before Hermione forced herself to shift enough to snag her purse off the ground. She needed to find the dittany from her bag, there was a possibility that she still had some remaining and… Her eyes slowly returned to Harry’s unconscious form. He needed whatever was left.
Her hand slipped into the bag, rummaging for the protective pocket she left the bottle in. Her worry began to notch itself into her sternum, coaxing her heart race with every second she did not feel the crystal bottle. Relief flooded her system as her hand finally grasped the delicate bottle, all the worry of it being smashed or lost gone.
Hermione looked at the brown liquid that was situated in the crystal bottle. There was just enough for Harry to heal his wound. It wouldn't grow back his hand, but that was a small cost. He was alive and that was all that mattered. With a deep sigh she uncorked the potion, pouring it into her friend's mouth, watching the liquid tickle down his throat.
She watched in fascination as new pink skin painted itself across the stub that was once her friend's hand.
Even though she had spent 7 years in the magical world, sometimes it still amazed her at the abilities of potions. It was a shame that muggles did not have access to such things. How many people could magic help?
Hermione shook her head, dislodging the intruding thoughts from her head. There was no time for such thinking. Even though they seemed safe currently, they could be discovered by Voldemort and his minions any second. That was not something that she could allow. They had to leave, which meant she had to get Harry to wake up, after all, she wouldn't be able to drag him in her current predicament. The question was how?
Magic seemed to be out of the question, her state weakened by her younger age, her reserve depleted with all the protections she had put in place. She wracked her brain for a non-magical solution, something that she could do without magic. Memories trickled in, of the Victorian era, how muggles had used smelling salts in order to revive those that had fainted. All it was was ammonia, often procured using shaved deer horns combined with vinegar. Unfortunately for them, Hermione didn't have deer horns, but she did happen to have powdered elk hooves. She knew that the aroma from the powdered hooves would emit the ammonia and help her to revive the ebony haired boy.
With this plan in mind, Hermione reached into her beaded bag, searching for the box that she stored her potion ingredients in. She found it easily enough, not wasting anymore time, quickly pulling out the ingredient and uncorking it. She crouched next to Harry’s unconscious form, waving the bottle under his nose. It didn't take more than a second for his body to react, his lungs pulling in a violent breath and his muscles forcing him to sit upright. Green eyes met Honey as the boy gasped for air, groaning in pain.
“Hermione?” His voice was as rough as hers, laced with pain and shock. She was certain that he was just as confused as she was about why they were alive. He hadn’t seen the battle between Voldemort and herself, hadn’t seen her jump in front of the killing curse meant for him. She was grateful for that, she knew he would not be pleased when she told him what had happened. “What happened to you? Why do you look like you are eleven?” he croaked at her.
The frizzy haired girl winced, not sure exactly what to tell him, there were so many things that had happened, her being twelve again was just icing on the cake, it wasn't the base. “I’m not sure-- we will have to figure it out later. We have to go, Harry, you have to get up” she said “ I can't carry you, and my magic is weak from whatever is going on.” she looked at the nub where his hand had been” You made a lot of noise. We have to go before the death eaters surround us” she told him, conveying the urgency with her eyes.
If there was one thing in the world, she was grateful for in the moment, it was the fact that when she told Harry to do something, he did it. He trusted her, just as she trusted him. She didn't have to explain to him the urgency of them getting out of here, of how his screams as she burned away his flesh must have been heard by Voldemort’s Death Eaters, how they could be surrounded at any minute. She didn't have to explain anything, because Harry knew when she was worried, it was for a legitimate reason.
Hermione watched mutely as Harry pushed himself up, wobbling slightly from what she suspected was blood loss. Still, he managed to get to his feet unsteadily. Hermione didn't give him a chance to steady himself, taking his hand and leading him as forcefully as she could away from where they were.
It was a dire situation, the one that they were in. Harry was stumbling as they went deeper into the forbidden forest, as far away from Hogwarts as they could get.
They needed to get out, needed to find a way to escape, going deeper in the forest would only lead them into more danger. Hermione’s brain ran through a thousand different possibilities of how to get help. Her first and only option was to find the Centaurs, though they tended to mind their own business and not get involved, they were their only chance. The problem was trying to find them. Hermione paused only briefly to consider which direction to go when her eyes stopped upon two creatures she had never seen before.
Her heart stopped at the sight of them, their ghastly beauty bringing her to tears. She knew what these creatures were. Thestrals. Never before had she seen one of these skeletal flying horses, though she remembered how Harry had described them after their fourth year, how shocked he had been when he had seen them pulling the carriages. Sure, she had ridden one before, as disconcerting as that had been, dangling thousands of feet in the air while not being able to see what it was underneath you.
She remembered how she had wished she could have seen the animal, if only to calm her nerves, and now, she wished she could take back that wish. She had been young, naive, never truly thought she would be a witness to the things she had been forced to see. She had thought she was safe, that Harry was safe.
She had been wrong.
She wasn't sure how long she stood there, transfixed by the creature that only those who had witnessed death could see, only that it was long enough for Harry to start to wobble. Hermione looked at her friend with concern, he was pale from the loss of his blood, and she needed to get him medical attention. Her eyes fell back to the Thestral, a new plan forming in her head. It was a long shot, but if she could get the creature to fly them then perhaps she could save them after all. Slowly she approached the creature, leaving Harry's side.
The taunt head of the winged horse turned in her direction as she approached, nostrils flaring as she approached him, his body stiff as if deciding whether to run or stay.
“It’s ok” she coaxed, her voice a squeak, much higher than she remembered. The thestrals ears perked forward at her voice, so she continued, slowly taking one step after another “I’m not here to hurt you...” she was within arm's length now, and she tentative offered it her palm” we need your help” she whispered as the creature sniffed her hand cautiously.
Soon enough the creature relaxed to her cooing, and she felt confident enough to lead Harry to her four-legged friend. It took more effort than she had expected to help Harry onto its back and climb on herself, her legs much shorter than she was used to. She pushed the problem of her body being that of an 11-year-old to the back of her mind for now. She was certain that that death eaters would be upon them soon, and she needed to make sure that she got Harry to safety.
With a deep breath and a prayer to Merlin that this would work she urged the winged beast to flight. Holding on tight as it took off into the sky, giant leather wings stretched wide. She took a deep breath as they put distance between them, heading far from the school she had once considered her home. She glanced behind her, to where the smoldering remains of the castle should have been, and her heart dropped.
As she watched the school disappear from her line of sight, she felt her stomach flip, fear and uncertainty clawing at her insides, threatening to send her into a panic.
Where there should have been the burning remains of the school, stood the castle she had remembered from her first year, standing tall and proud as it always had been. It was with that image in her mind, she knew for the first time, something had gone terribly wrong.