𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖙𝖜𝖊𝖑𝖋𝖙𝖍 𝖒𝖚𝖘𝖊 ⋆ hermione granger

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

"Crookshanks did something," Harry says, and it's all the answer Sage needs. She doesn't really care. She's just glad the bloody tree isn't trying to murder her anymore. It should be nice to her, she thinks, because she's been to several Save The Forests marches. She looks around her, head spinning from the pain in her ribs, and sees they're in almost complete darkness.

"It's a tunnel," Hermione says as they walk. Harry lights his wand. Sage just nods and wonders how she got herself into this situation. It's probably Harry's fault. It's usually Harry's fault. In cases involving dark magic and You-Know-Who, it's most definitely Harry's fault.

Sage is pretty much shitting herself. "We're not following that dog, are we?"

"It took Ron," Harry answers.

"Doesn't mean we have to follow it."

"Yes, it does," Hermione says. Sage rolls her eyes and ducks down to avoid clonking her head on the roof of the tunnel. She's the tallest there, what with short-arse-Granger and got-his-dad's-genes-Potter. Sage doesn't know whose genes she's got, the ones that make her abnormally tall for a fourteen year old girl. And she also happens to be extremely afraid of the dark, which makes this dark, tight tunnel a whole lot more fun. Every noise makes her think Black is right on their tail- if you'll excuse her pun.

Then, Sage gets so angry with how much she's crouching and stands up straight. Her head hits something that isn't earth.

"Trapdoor," she announces. Hermione takes a sharp breath in. Sage knows how much the girl loves trapdoors. Overdose of Scooby-Doo as a child, Sage diagnoses. They all climb through; Sage is sure she knows where they are.

"Harry, Sage," Hermione whispers, "I think we're in the Shrieking Shack."

Sage says, "Oh, bollocks."

There's a scream from upstairs. Sage flinches and grips onto Hermione's arm, her crush put aside while she uses the girl for safety.

Crush? No. We don't have a crush on Hermione. Who's Hermione? Never heard of her. Never seen her pretty face or gorgeous hair or incredible witchcraft skills. Definitely not.

Oh look, there's Ron. He looks like he's in pain- oh, mercy, legs do not naturally stick out at that angle. Sage drops down beside him and he's whimpering something she can't hear over the ringing in her ears.

"You'll have to speak up," she says, voice thick with fear, "I can't hear what you're saying."

"It's him- it's him- he's an animagus-"

The door to the room swings shut. Sage whips around so that she's sitting on the floor beside Ron, and she's not ashamed to admit she's cowering behind him. Because Sirius Black is standing there in the corner, and he looks murderous.

"Expelliarmus," he announces. Harry and Hermione's wand fly at him. Sage was both stupid and smart enough to have left her wand up at the castle. She thinks that Remus would probably be a bit angry with her for forgetting it.

And she can't draw her eyes away from the man. His hair's long; longer than the mugshot photo they've been using from when he was first imprisoned. He was slim in those photos, handsome enough that she could understand what her Auntie Flick saw in him, but now he's like a corpse. His skin is stretched thin over his bones and his cloak does nothing to hide the funny, angular bones that poke out where muscle and fat should be. And she doesn't realise, but those grey eyes of his are staring right back at her.