The Escape
Hermione
The forest floor is still slick with blood rain when I hear them coming.
I run. Branches whip against my face. My lungs burn. The wound in my side from yesterday's fight threatens to tear open with every step.
A root catches my foot. I stumble.
Strong hands grab me from behind, yanking me backwards. My head cracks against a tree trunk.
"Got you, District 12."
Draco's voice sends ice through my veins. His fingers dig into my arms as he spins me around, slamming me back against the tree. The knife at my throat gleams with residual blood rain.
"Wandering alone in our territory?" His breath is hot against my face. "Not very bright for someone who's supposed to be clever."
Blaise and Pansy emerge from the shadows, weapons ready. My eyes dart between them, calculating odds I already know are impossible.
"Should we do it slow?" Pansy's smile is razor-sharp. "Make a show of it?"
"Bring her back to camp." Draco's eyes never leave mine. "I want an audience for this one."
They bind my hands. March me through the forest like a prisoner of war. Which, I suppose, I am.
Their camp appears through the trees. And there, sitting by the fire, is Harry.
My heart stops.
He's different. Harder. There's blood on his clothes, a fresh cut above his eye. When he sees me, something flickers across his face—too quick to read.
"Look what we found, Potter." Draco shoves me forward. I stumble to my knees. "Your old district partner. Want to help us finish her?"
Harry stands slowly. I see his fingers twitch toward the knife at his belt.
"I told you, Malfoy." His voice is cold. Detached. "I want nothing to do with my old district."
But his eyes. His eyes tell a different story.
"Prove it then." Draco tosses him a knife. "She's all yours."
The world narrows to just us. Harry moves toward me, knife glinting in the firelight. I keep my eyes locked on his, searching for any hint of the boy I once knew.
His hand tangles in my hair, yanking my head back. The blade touches my throat.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, so soft only I can hear.
Then everything explodes into motion.
Harry spins, his knife finding Blaise's shoulder. I roll, sweeping Pansy's legs from under her. The rope around my wrists snaps—Harry must have cut it when he grabbed me.
Draco roars with rage. Metal clashes against metal.
Blood sprays. Someone screams.
Harry's hand finds mine in the chaos. "Run!"
We run.
Behind us, Draco's voice rises above the sound of pursuit: "I'll kill you both for this, Potter! You hear me? Both of you!"
We don't stop running. Don't speak. Just clutch each other's hands like lifelines as we flee into the deepening dark.
The only sound is our ragged breathing and the distant echo of Draco's promise.