Magpie
Time ticks by in unknown stretches. Hermione sits against the wall, circling her wrists and testing just how far she can pull them from the floor. The rope gnaws, screaming welts blossoming under the fibers.
Hermione takes a breath and closes her eyes. Remnants of the Cruciatus curse carve into nerves below her skin, leaving her body aching, jumping. She lets her arms drop, the ropes thudding gracelessly beside her. Across the room, Yaxley and Alecto both turn at the sound, their lips curled. Hermione leans further against the wall, her matted hair pillowing her skull. To her relief Yaxley turns away, pulling Alecto’s attention with him.
Hermione lets her shoulders sink and forces her aching head to quiet. With another breath, she tries to think of a plan to get her hands on a wand.
Pages of her beloved school books swim in her mind’s eye. Hermione thinks of their thin pages, the smell of parchment and the smooth leather covers. There must be something—some detail she can pull out—something she can use now.
She just needs a wand, and she can take care of the rest.
The books remain annoyingly mute, refusing to offer any wisdom or insight to help her. She opens her mouth. Yaxley’s silencing charm smothers the sigh that rises.
Hermione curls onto her side, pulling her arms into her chest. She wraps her fingers around the magpie charm again, spinning it on the chain. After the second turn the chain warms, and Hermione wraps her fingers more securely around it.
She thinks of George, and she wonders what he is doing now.
She closes her eyes and imagines him on an airplane with her parents back to England. She hopes he was able to find a way to help them, some way to reverse the charm. She remembers the terror on her mother’s face, the stubborn anger in her father’s. She hopes they will forgive her.
Chair legs scrape against the floor, and Hermione looks up to see Yaxley on his feet, shaking his head and grumbling. He snatches his wand from the table and waves it, producing a map. Alecto rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest, slumping like a petulant child.
Hermione averts her eyes before they can catch her looking. She drops her gaze, rotating the magpie charm again.
George will know she’s alive, at least, if he still has his own pendant nearby.
The metal heats against her fingers, and the magpie flaps its wings.
She needs to find a wand.
Hermione spins the pendant around, letting her vision go blurry as she follows the hypnotic motion.
Not for the first time, George’s words flit through her brain.
I will get you and your parents out of Australia and back home to England no matter what.
Hermione shakes her head softly and continues to turn the pendant. George will find her. And she must be prepared when he does.
The metal pulses against her skin, its rhythm seeming to quicken. Another thought flashes through Hermione’s head: the magpie had sensed the direction of her thoughts and wanted to assuage them.
She quickly dismisses the notion, forcing the idea away. It is a necklace, she reminds herself. Even magic has limits.
Still, she wraps her fingers more tightly around the silvery bird, and turns it once more.
As if in response, the pendant blazes so hot that Hermione drops it, the scorching metal slipping between her fingers. A silent yelp passes through her lips and she casts a furtive glance towards Yaxley and Alecto, momentarily grateful for the silencing charm placed upon her.
Against her chest the bird’s wings flap once, twice before stilling. Hermione holds her breath.
A bloated, yawning second ticks by.
And then the wall beside Hermione bursts.
Hermione ducks her head and dives to the side, doing her best to avoid flying plaster and sparks. The rope digs into her wrists and her eardrums shriek. She can hear Yaxley and Alecto screeching nearby, their footsteps pounding against the floor.
The debris floats in the air, settling on people and furniture alike. Hermione shakes her head as best as she can and coughs as she looks over her shoulder towards the ruined wall. Her chest constricts as she catches sight of the two boys standing by her, half-dazed but alert. George’s eyes land on her as though drawn by force, and Ron’s face goes white.
“Hermione—” Ron croaks, his eyes bulging as he takes in the ropes around her wrist, her undoubtedly wild hair and face. “What—”
George tugs Ron away, shouting something Hermione can’t make out as a surge of red light fills the room. Both boys raise their wands, their shoulders squaring as Yaxley and Alecto approach. Hermione watches, throat tight, as two duels rapidly unfold.
Ron jabs his wand, his brow rigid as he deflects Alecto’s curses. Her face folds into a nasty smile, her eyes reducing to pinpricks as she jeers. A few paces away, George sends a barrage of hexes towards Yaxley. His jaw is set, his expression hard as he twirls and slices his wand through the air.
Yaxley merely grins. “Very brave of you to come back, Weasley,” he taunts, easily blocking one of George’s spells with a flick of his wand. “When the precious mudblood won’t be able to save you again.”
George scowls. “She won’t have to.”
Yaxley laughs and ducks to avoid the jet of red light rushing from George’s wand. “She’s a sweet one, isn’t she? So lovely, so obedient and obliging—”
George’s face darkens and he jabs his wand forward, sending a vicious band of purple charging across the room. “Don’t fucking talk about her,” George roars, waving his wand and sending another stand of light towards Yaxley. “You won’t touch her—”
Yaxley’s lip curls and he sidesteps the curses, his wand swiping up to produce a shimmering shield. “How touching,” he drawls. “Gryffindor house would be so proud to see this display of chivalry here.”
George steps closer to Yaxley, his cheeks red and his chest heaving. Hermione sees him open his mouth, but the words are lost to her as another crash sounds.
Hermione whips around to see Harry and Mr. Weasley stumbling through the debris of the shattered wall, both their wands raised. Mr. Weasley shakes the dust from his shirtsleeves and straightens. Beside him, Harry shakes hair from his eyes.
Hermione sees the exact moment Harry spots her, the way his face shatters and resets. Mr. Weasley hurries across the room to join George, and Harry strides towards Hermione.
“Hermione, are you hurt?” he whispers, green eyes wide behind his glasses as he looks over the ropes that bind her wrists.
She shakes her head. She tries to tell him it’s alright, that he can go with the others, but the words refuse to take form against the silencing charm.
“Hermione, answer me—” a note of panic laces Harry’s voice as he watches her. “Did they—”
She leans back to meet Harry’s eye and shakes her head again, pointing to her throat. Silenced, she mouths.
Harry’s brows contract, and he takes her hands, inspecting the ropes around them. “I’m getting you out of these,” he says in a low voice.
Hermione swallows and holds her wrists forward. Harry bends in front of her, hair falling against his forehead as he takes out his wand.
“Hold—”
They both straighten with a jerk as something crashes to the ground ahead of them. Harry whips around, nearly losing his balance as he scrambles to stand. Hermione teeters onto her side, peering around Harry’s legs.
Great plumes of dust spiral into the air, made translucent by the sunlight suddenly invading. She can see part of the ceiling and far wall have come down, smoking holes evident in more than one piece of rubble.
George and Mr. Weasley stand on one side of the pile, Yaxley on the other. Yaxley swipes his wand and sends a bolt of flames hurtling towards the two. Mr. Weasley sends a rush of water to meet the flames, the air sizzling around them.
A shout echoes against the walls, and Hermione turns to see Ron wheeling backwards, his wand flying in his efforts to stave off Alecto’s curses.
Harry lurches, stepping towards Ron and gripping his wand. He pauses halfway through the motion, eyes flicking back to Hermione.
Hermione catches his eye and shakes her head. Go, she mouths, nodding towards Ron.
Harry’s jaw tightens. He turns to face her, lips pressed in a thin line. He lifts his wand and flicks it. “Diffindo.”
The ropes sever and fall. She raises her hands gratefully, twisting her wrists and shaking out her sore arms. Harry flicks his wand again and the ropes around her ankles release. One more flick, and she feels air rush to her throat as the silencing charm lifts.
Harry bends down and takes her by the elbow, helping her stand.
“Stay here,” he whispers, glancing over his shoulder at the two battles still raging. “Try to stay out of range so they can’t hit you. We’ll get you out of here soon.”
Hermione frowns and opens her mouth, but Harry is already turning, running to join Ron in his fight.
She looks around her. With two of the walls collapsed, blue sky and a neighboring building are visible. The building they are in must originally be some sort of storage unit—or perhaps an empty home in a quiet part of the country. She cranes her neck and sees a row of identical structures sitting in a row further in the distance.
She doesn’t know how far Yaxley’s protective enchantments extend, but they can’t go far. Not with other buildings—other people—so close by.
They just need to get out of here.
A spell hits the ceiling and Hermione ducks to avoid the shower of sparks spitting at her. She shakes herself and brings her focus back to the fighting at hand.
Harry and Ron both face Alecto and she is moving towards the back of the room, teeth bared as she fights to shield herself. A body length away George and Mr. Weasley continue to duel Yaxley, both of their faces taut with concentration.
Hermione’s chest constricts as George leans back, stumbling slightly as he avoids a curse. His hair sticks to his forehead and she can see the tension radiating from his shoulders. She looks to the ground and searches for something, anything that will help him. The shield cloak and extra trick wand he had given her are gone, but there must be something—
The air in the room is rent apart by a piercing shriek. Hermione spins on her heels just in time to see Alecto Carrow fall to the ground, her body rigid.
“Stupefy!” Ron shouts.
Alecto Carrow’s face goes limp. Yaxley screams, and a blast erupts from his wand so viciously that the floor shakes and Hermione is thrown backwards into the debris.
She scrambles onto her feet, shaking off dust and clearing her lungs. Yaxley storms across the floor, his wand swiping and lancing at any person near him and his face twisting into an ugly mask. Hermione looks quickly at George and then Harry, her heartbeat rattling painfully against her ribs.
Yaxley sends another curse charging towards George. George vaults sideways, his feet hitting the floor unsteadily. Hermione inhales sharply as he wobbles on his feet, precious moments ticking by as he regains his balance.
She starts to move towards him when her eyes drop to the ground and she spots it. She pauses momentarily before bending and swiftly scooping up the jagged piece of glass laying by the debris.
She thinks of her parents, their fear and horror when she found them. She thinks of Mary Cattermole sobbing in a Ministry interrogation room, and the welts around her own wrists.
She does not need a wand. She just needs a weapon.
“You think that will be enough?” Yaxley snarls, sending another curse towards George. “You think—” he swipes his wand and another blast of light shoots forward. “I care—” a twist, and a jet of blue. “About that stupid—ugly—bitch of a woman?” A flick and a wall of red.
Flames lick Hermione’s lungs and travel throughout her chest, and she swallows a scream. Get out of here, she wants to scream at George. Save yourself.
But George will not save himself, and she knows this. She has forced him to do it once, and he will not willingly do it again.
Harry, Ron, and Mr. Weasley hurry to join George, sending hexes towards Yaxley and casting defensive charms. Yaxley’s wand continues to leap through the air, offensive and defensive all at once.
She positions herself against the wall and adjusts the glass in her hand.
George straightens, his face pink and hair wild. He is slower in raising his wand than he was before, but he raises it. He casts a shield charm, and Hermione lets out a breath.
Yaxley’s face twists and sneers as he fights, and Hermione watches closely. She shuffles to the side, slowly, along the perimeter of the room. Her eyes stay on Yaxley, timing her movements so his back is to her.
“I’ll fight all of you—every single one of you—” Yaxley shouts, stepping back and aiming a curse at Ron. “And your Mudblood friend—”
In a single, protracted moment, Yaxley turns to gesture to the spot where Hermione had sat trapped. His eyes bulge slightly, and he surges to the side, gaze landing on her. “You—”
Hermione pushes herself off the wall and dashes to the far side of the room. Yaxley’s face turns puce, his wand lashes down.
Without thinking Hermione turns her head and finds George. He moves towards her, wand raised and eyes flashing. Hermione thinks wildly, impractically, of his face when he had kissed her bloody palm. The intensity in his expression, the way he had lit a fire in her lungs.
The fire burns now, spreading through her until she feels the very blood in her veins give in to the flames. Breaths smash against her lungs and unheard words scrape her tongue and everywhere, every atom of her body burns hot.
The glass digs into the skin of her palm, cutting it open anew, and the flames explode in Hermione’s chest.
An almighty bang shakes the remaining walls.
The air rushes from Hermione’s body in a single heave, and her vision darkens. The world seems to hold itself still for a moment, the sky and the trees sitting slack-jawed, waiting to see what follows.
Hermione groans and picks her head up with great effort. She lays flat on her back, the shard of glass sitting a body length away. With another groan, she forces herself into a sitting position, ears ringing. She looks down, blinking, and finds to her astonishment a wand clutched tight in her right hand.
“Wha—”
Hermione pushes hair and dust from her face as she frantically surveys the room. Mr. Weasley, George, Harry, and Ron all stand in their places, wide-eyed but unharmed. In the middle of the room, splayed across the floor, lies Yaxley.
Hermione looks down again at the wand in her hand, and comprehension dawns. She scrambles to her feet, raising her arm and swallowing the revulsion roiling in her stomach.
As soon as she stands the others move as well, as if they had simply been waiting for her cue. Yaxley stirs and then bounds to his feet. George and Harry turn their wands on him, while Ron holds an arm out towards Hermione.
“Stay back!” Ron shouts, glancing back at Yaxley’s prone form. “Hermione, don’t get too close!”
Hermione ignores him. She rushes towards George, Yaxley’s wand still clutched in her hand.
Yaxley turns his gaze to her, the ghost of a sneer still lingering on his lips. “I should have killed you when I had the chance.”
“Pity you didn’t.” Hermione plants her feet on the ground and raises her arm, pausing for a moment so she can see the horror in Yaxley’s face as he recognizes his own wand in her hand.
She needn’t have bothered. Hermione has no sooner raised the wand when a blast of red smashes into Yaxley’s chest with so much force he is thrown clear across the room. His body lands with a dull thud, limbs loose and head lolling to the side.
Hermione looks over her shoulder to find George beside her, face mutinous and breath heavy as he lowers his wand. Without looking at anyone or saying a word George stalks across the room, his wand aimed at Yaxley’s unconscious form.
Hermione takes a breath, eyes wide. “George—don’t—” she croaks.
George hesitates as his feet land just beside Yaxley’s head, and the hand holding his wand trembles ever so slightly. Hermione sees him swallow heavily, can see his jaw twitch as he stares down at the man.
“George—” Mr. Weasley murmurs. He steps carefully towards his son, arm outstretched.
George turns slowly and faces his father, the color gone from his face. He glances from his dad, back to Yaxley, and finally to Hermione, his eyes storming.
Mr. Weasley reaches George and puts a hand to his shoulder. “Let’s get him to the Ministry so they can deal with him, shall we?”
George gives a short, jerky nod. His eyes drop, and his wand comes up. Strands of rope stream from the tip of his wand and wrap around Yaxley’s body, binding him tightly before neatly tying themselves off.
Mr. Weasley steps forward to check the bindings, and George lets his wand drop. He stands still for a moment and then shifts, as if in slow motion, to face Hermione. He takes one step, then two, until he stands just in front of her.
Hermione’s heart pinches. Her throat collapses as she takes in his face, the lines across his forehead and the dust speckling his skin.
George reaches out and puts a hand to her jaw, his thumb running over her cheek. “You’re alive,” he whispers.
Hermione nods. She brings a hand up to cover his. “You came back.”
George’s mouth twists, the lines on his forehead deepening. “Of course I did.”
Hermione looks from his mouth to his eyes, her fingers skating over the hand still cradling her jaw. She opens her mouth.
Footsteps pound and as the words rise up onto Hermione’s tongue, Harry and Ron appear.
“Hermione! Hermione, are you alright?”
George’s hand drops swiftly from her face and he takes a step back as Ron tugs Hermione into a crushing embrace.
“We were so worried when George told us what had happened,” Ron says, his voice shaking somewhat. “I’m so sorry—I should’ve gone with you—”
“It’s okay,” Hermione says weakly. “I’m okay.”
Ron releases her and Harry steps forward, putting one arm around her shoulders and looking at her intently. “What did they do to you? You look—when we got here—”
Hermione takes a breath and glances over Harry’s shoulder towards George. He stands stiffly, his expression curtained.
“What you saw was mostly all it was,” Hermione murmurs. “I don’t know precisely what they planned to do with me, but Yaxley was trying to take power, now that—now that the war in England is over. He said he would be even more powerful if he had Harry Potter’s favorite mudblood with him.”
Harry and Ron both shout indignantly, and Harry turns to face Hermione so quickly she can hear a joint in his neck pop.
“We should have killed him,” Ron growls, looking over his shoulder at Yaxley and Alecto’s bound forms. “There’s still time.”
“No,” Hermione shakes her head. She glances again at George, and thinks of the shard of glass she had been prepared to use. “Let the Ministry deal with them.”
As Harry and Ron scowl in Yaxley’s direction, Hermione lets herself sink against Harry. The fire under her skin has reduced to ash, and her body aches.
Harry shifts slightly, supporting more of Hermione’s weight with his arm. “So they didn’t do anything else?”
She hesitates, flinching slightly as she remembers the torrent of pain Alecto had inflicted on her. “They used the Cruciatus,” she admits. “Just once.”
“Right.” Harry’s head jerks and he presses his lips together.
Ron comes behind them and presses a hand to Hermione’s shoulder. “They can’t hurt you again, ‘Mione,” he says earnestly. “You’re safe now.”
Hermione nods, her throat tightening at the words. Her eyes burn and her skull grows heavy in her head. She looks over Harry’s shoulder again and finds George facing away from her, intently watching his father levitate Yaxley and Alecto into the air.
Mr. Weasley gives a tight smile and walks towards the trio, the two unconscious Death Eaters following him in an odd procession. When he reaches them, his eyes fall on Hermione, and she is horrified to feel tears falling as the kind man reaches out and gently takes her by the shoulder.
“I’m very glad you’re safe, Hermione,” Mr. Weasley says.
Hermione nods, a painful lump forming in her chest as the tears continue to fall. Mr. Weasley gives her another smile, unperturbed by her lack of words.
“Let’s go, you lot,” he calls to the boys, nodding towards the destroyed doorway. “We have to get to the Australian Ministry and see about that return portkey. Harry and Ron, you help Hermione.”
The boys nod and Harry’s arm tightens around Hermione’s shoulders. A few paces away, George shoves his hands in his pockets and wordlessly makes his way to the door without a glance in their direction.
Hermione sniffs loudly, and Mr. Weasley gives her shoulder a squeeze. “It’s alright, Dear,” he murmurs. “I don’t know if the boys told you, but your parents are safe.”
Hermione’s breath skips, and she shakes her head.
“They’re at St. Mungo’s,” Mr. Weasley continues, his voice soft.
“Yeah, we saw them when they first got there,” Ron adds, nodding fervently. “One of the healers said they thought they might start remembering things soon.”
“You can see them as soon as the Healers look you over,” Mr. Weasley says.
Hermione takes one last rattling breath and closes her eyes. All she can do is nod silently as she thinks of her parents, that she will finally be able to see them. She can explain everything.
“Come on,” Harry says, nudging her forward.
Hermione looks to the side and finds his green eyes trained on her, bright even behind his smudged glasses. Her eyes wander up, catch sight of the old lightning bolt scar barely visible behind his wild mop of hair. Without a word, she throws her arms over his shoulders, clutching him as the rest of the tears leave her.
Harry’s other arm comes up and he hugs her gently, carefully, as though she were made of glass. Hermione lets out a cry and wishes someone would hold her now like George would, with so much force that it blocks out the rest of the world.
Harry’s arms drop after a fraction of a second, and his feet shuffle. “Come on,” he says again, leading Hermione away from the ruined wall and tattered ropes. “We’re going home.”