profane divinity [tomione]

one.

one: knockturn alley

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

Hermione ran her hands through honey brown locks, her fingertips grazing over her scalp and pulling at the roots. The ticking of the clock on her desk was the only thing she could hear, the small suburb she lived in completely still at this time of the night.

She took a deep breath and glanced at the clock for the seventh time, but the handles seemed to be stuck at 3:15. Time was moving painfully slow and she was worried sick; Ron still hadn't come home.

Hermione scoffed, her foot tapping the floor repeatedly. They didn't have a home anymore. Having been Harry's best friends put them in great danger, and thus they were the main targets of Lord Voldemort. They had to relocate every two weeks and stay as far away from London as possible, especially that the Death Eaters were on the hunt for Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley.

Her heart had stopped when she'd seen it, a paper laying on the pavement with her face plastered on it. 'WANTED' was written just above her picture, barely decipherable with the footprints covering the white parchment.

She pressed the on button to the radio on her desk, her sprawled papers left untouched around her. There was an ever-present ache in her chest but she ignored it, listening intently to George and Lee Jordan's words, slightly unintelligible because of the static noise. Muggleborns and Half-bloods kept mysteriously disappearing, but everyone knew whom the culprit was. She'd keep the radio on when Ron was out, praying that she wouldn't hear his name. Merlin knew she couldn't handle losing him as well.

Remus, Fred, Dobby, Tonks, Moody, Sirius, and Dumbledore. All dead. Harry Potter was dead. The Wizarding world had lost hope months ago, but Hermione was determined to find a solution. After all, she was the brightest witch of her age.

Her eyes watered when she remembered Dumbledore's words, a lump forming in her throat as the late August breeze seeped through the window and refreshed her slightly. Hermione abruptly stood up when the door slammed open, her boyfriend stumbling in clumsily.

"'Ello, 'Mione," he waved stupidly, his words garbling as he tried to maintain his balance. Ron leaned against the kitchen island, his eyes drooping and hair sticking out like a mane.

"You're drunk again, Ron."

The redhead waved her off, kicking off his shoes and tripping over towards the worn out couch. The place was dusty, but neither of them cared enough to clean up. They'd lost interest in such trivial things months ago.

"You're still researching, aren't you, 'Mione?" He slurred, burping loudly afterwards and she grimaced. He'd taken notice of the books laying open on her table, along with scribbled notes and newspaper clippings. "You know this will lead you nowhere. We can't do anything anymore."

"Don't be such a pessimist, Ron. For your information, I actually have a plan." Hermione crossed her arms angrily, leaning against her desk and glaring at the drunkard that had once been her beloved best friend.

She couldn't stand him anymore, not after he resorted to drinking when Harry died. Of course Hermione empathised with him, especially when the Weasleys lost Fred and disappeared altogether. They were on the run, just like the young couple, but the big family had to split up in case they caught any attention.