i started to fall, and the silence deafened
Glass shattered in every which way as Hermione felt her legs give out from under her, knees colliding unpleasantly with the ground while she managed to instinctively cover the back of her neck. Even as the pain shot through her body, some remaining with a dull ache that dug too deep in her bones, her immediate thought was that she was free to breathe at last, gasping for air even as the tepid air stung against the slight slit across her neck. Perhaps it was a cursed blade. In the end, that wasn't what really mattered; even with her bones feeling very much like jelly and heavy wrought iron weighing her down, Hermione pushed her palms against the floor, willing herself to look up and watch. To see if her friends were safe.
All of them had known what they were signing up for, putting their own lives on the line in the hopes of securing a better future for generations to come, but a lofty goal could never outweigh looming threats and blades held so close to one's throat. Far more terrifying to Hermione than finding herself at odds had always been the thought of either of her best friends getting hurt. Sometimes, at the worst of moments much like that evening at Malfoy Manor, it was hard to suppress the feeling that maybe they shouldn't have been so ambitious after all, that they should have spent more time preparing themselves or potentially even enjoying what little peace they had, more than many others in the war while tucked away in the shadows of unknown forests. Hermione caught a glimpse of red hair and heard Harry shouting incantations, noticed the whiz of Stunning Spells passing by as her hand groped over the floor, despite knowing she'd find no wand there. Her hair fell in front of her eyes to obscure her view, but it didn't stop the scattered shards of glass from glittering like green and red stars spread across the dark marble floor.
Hermione froze when a pair of hands reached out to grasp her, rather than pushing them away, heart racing until it thudded against her ears. Hearing Ron's terse, quiet voice helped stifle the whimper of pain as she nodded. Just nodded, even as she found it difficult to process what he was saying at all. She heard the rending of metal scraping against stone and the light clatter of Gryffindor's sword before a wand was tossed through the relative darkness. With Ron's hand tightly wrapped around her shoulder, Hermione did nothing more than grasp onto his jumper, watching with wide and apprehensive eyes as Harry slung Griphook over a shoulder and grabbed for Dobby's spindly little hand. She tried to reach into her coat, making sure that everything was there- the beaded purse, but still no wand.
And then she hit damp earth with a slap of her cheek against sand, salty air playing with her nose and foam washing by her lips; she coughed in an effort to rid herself of the taste, wincing as the ocean washed over the scrawl of 'Mudblood' over her arm and the minute cuts from the fallen chandelier.
"Ron?" she called out, voice hoarse. "Harry?"
Pushing her palms against the sand and pulling herself up to her knees, Hermione frowned as she looked out over crashing waves and felt the sun beating down on her from above. In spite of how idyllic the scene was, Hermione's fingers only dug deeper into the grains, finding the beaded bag in her immediate line of sight. Gritting her teeth, Hermione got to her feet and wrapped both arms tightly around her waist. As she stood, it soon became clear that all of the items that had been in the bag- clothes, quills, books- were scattered over the sand. Had her charm worn off?
"Oh my God," she murmured to herself, covering her mouth with a hand. The three of them were meant to anticipate everything, to be ready for any eventuality, but she wasn't sure anything could have prepared her for this.
All of them had known what they were signing up for, putting their own lives on the line in the hopes of securing a better future for generations to come, but a lofty goal could never outweigh looming threats and blades held so close to one's throat. Far more terrifying to Hermione than finding herself at odds had always been the thought of either of her best friends getting hurt. Sometimes, at the worst of moments much like that evening at Malfoy Manor, it was hard to suppress the feeling that maybe they shouldn't have been so ambitious after all, that they should have spent more time preparing themselves or potentially even enjoying what little peace they had, more than many others in the war while tucked away in the shadows of unknown forests. Hermione caught a glimpse of red hair and heard Harry shouting incantations, noticed the whiz of Stunning Spells passing by as her hand groped over the floor, despite knowing she'd find no wand there. Her hair fell in front of her eyes to obscure her view, but it didn't stop the scattered shards of glass from glittering like green and red stars spread across the dark marble floor.
Hermione froze when a pair of hands reached out to grasp her, rather than pushing them away, heart racing until it thudded against her ears. Hearing Ron's terse, quiet voice helped stifle the whimper of pain as she nodded. Just nodded, even as she found it difficult to process what he was saying at all. She heard the rending of metal scraping against stone and the light clatter of Gryffindor's sword before a wand was tossed through the relative darkness. With Ron's hand tightly wrapped around her shoulder, Hermione did nothing more than grasp onto his jumper, watching with wide and apprehensive eyes as Harry slung Griphook over a shoulder and grabbed for Dobby's spindly little hand. She tried to reach into her coat, making sure that everything was there- the beaded purse, but still no wand.
And then she hit damp earth with a slap of her cheek against sand, salty air playing with her nose and foam washing by her lips; she coughed in an effort to rid herself of the taste, wincing as the ocean washed over the scrawl of 'Mudblood' over her arm and the minute cuts from the fallen chandelier.
"Ron?" she called out, voice hoarse. "Harry?"
Pushing her palms against the sand and pulling herself up to her knees, Hermione frowned as she looked out over crashing waves and felt the sun beating down on her from above. In spite of how idyllic the scene was, Hermione's fingers only dug deeper into the grains, finding the beaded bag in her immediate line of sight. Gritting her teeth, Hermione got to her feet and wrapped both arms tightly around her waist. As she stood, it soon became clear that all of the items that had been in the bag- clothes, quills, books- were scattered over the sand. Had her charm worn off?
"Oh my God," she murmured to herself, covering her mouth with a hand. The three of them were meant to anticipate everything, to be ready for any eventuality, but she wasn't sure anything could have prepared her for this.