"Iᴛ's Nᴏ Gᴏᴏᴅ Wɪsʜɪɴɢ Fᴏʀ Tʜᴇ Iᴍᴘᴏssɪʙʟᴇ. Dᴏɴ'ᴛ Wɪsʜ. Rᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ. Rᴇᴍᴇᴍʙʀᴀɴᴄᴇs Aʀᴇ Rᴇᴀʟ."
𝑃𝑟𝑖𝑣𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑃𝑒𝑎𝑐𝑒𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑙
ᵐⁱᶜʰᵃᵉˡ ᵐᵒʳᵖᵘʳᵍᵒ
_________
"Hermione's been out for so long... where could she possibly be?" Ginny fretted, her concern etched across her face as she turned to Luna and Neville.
"I'm starting to get really worried. She mentioned the garden, so maybe we should check there. Come on, let's go find her," Luna suggested, her voice filled with unease as she rose from her seat.
With a sense of foreboding, Neville and Ginny stood up in agreement. Together, the trio embarked on a frantic search for Hermione, their anxiety growing with each passing minute.
As the minutes turned into an agonizing wait, the three of them found themselves standing at the front doorway, anxiety gnawing at their hearts. Suddenly, a sharp CRACK echoed through the air, causing them to jolt in alarm. Their eyes darted toward the source of the sound, where they discovered Hermione, her hands trembling on her knees, and her heavy panting intensifying their concern.
They rushed to her side, their voices trembling as they called out to her. Yet, she remained motionless, her refusal to look up sending a wave of anxiety coursing through them.
"Hermione, what happened?" They all exclaimed simultaneously, their faces filled with concern.
"Are you alright?" Ginny asked, her voice tinged with worry.
"I'm fine, really," she croaked weakly.
"No, you're not. Why are you panting?" Ginny questioned, her brow furrowed.
"I rushed here so I wouldn't worry any of you," Hermione replied, her voice strained.
"Well, you did worry us," Ginny muttered, her eyes fixed on Hermione.
Ginny glanced at Hermione's right hand and noticed her swollen knuckles. "What's this?" Ginny inquired, gesturing toward Hermione's injured hand.
Hermione grunted in discomfort.
"If you were in such a hurry, why are your knuckles swollen? It doesn't make sense to me," Ginny said, her suspicion growing.
"Oh, Gin, I was just so worried about my parents that I punched a tree in frustration. There's still no word about them," Hermione explained, her voice filled with anguish.
Ginny gently gripped Hermione's injured hand, and Hermione winced at her touch. Ginny took out her wand and muttered a spell, causing the knuckles to heal.
"Thanks, Ginny," Hermione croaked, relieved.
Neville summoned a goblet with his wand and filled it with water using the Aguamenti spell. He handed the goblet to Hermione, who drank it in one gulp.
"Thanks, Neville," she said, handing him back the empty goblet.
"Shall we go inside?" Luna asked, and they all headed towards the house, their concern for Hermione evident in their expressions.
____________
Hermione's heart pounded in her chest, and her hands trembled with fear. Why were the Death Eaters lurking in the ominous forest? Weren't they imprisoned in the forbidding depths of Azkaban after the brutal battle?
She remained ignorant of post-battle events, having avoided the Daily Prophet and all conversations. The Death Eaters' whereabouts remained a sinister enigma.
Terrified of causing further distress, she wove a web of lies when Ginny inquired, though she suspected Ginny saw through her deceit. Still, Ginny mercifully refrained from probing deeper.
As the moon cast eerie shadows, Ginny finally rose, her voice laced with unease. "Ready to go, Mione? It's getting dark."."
"Indeed, Gin," Hermione replied, masking her anxiety.
Ginny turned to Luna and Neville, her expression marked by a mix of gratitude and trepidation. "Thanks, you two! Today has been amazing!,"she said, her smile strained.
Luna beamed, radiating an eerie serenity. ""It's been wonderful having you here!"
Hermione managed a smile, though her thoughts remained chaotic. "Till we meet again!" she said,
With a palpable sense of foreboding, Ginny and Hermione made their way to the front door, Luna and Neville trailing behind, their farewells hanging in the heavy, apprehensive air. Then, with a thunderous CRACK, they vanished into the night.
CRACK
As Hermione was about to step into the burrow, Ginny intercepted her, her expression filled with concern.
"Hey, 'Mione, I can tell something's bothering you. You know you can confide in me, right? I'm your friend, and I care about you."
Hermione sighed, meeting Ginny's worried gaze. "I appreciate that, Ginny, but honestly, I'm fine and I told you that, I don't know what you are expecting me to say!"
Ginny nodded, her suspicion lingering in her eyes, but she didn't press further.
Together, they made their way inside the burrow.
As Hermione headed towards her room, she couldn't help but notice Percy and Ron desperately attempting various spells to break George's enchantment on the door. Her eyes then landed on Harry, sitting on a couch. When their eyes met, he swiftly rose and approached her,
"What about after dinner, 'Mione?" Harry stammered, his voice tinged with nervousness.
"Um, sure, Harry," she replied, her thoughts racing as she wondered why Harry seemed so insistent. Could it be something important he wanted to discuss?
Harry managed a strained smile, but Hermione's attempt at reciprocating turned into an awkward, almost pained expression. She was still reeling from shock. In an attempt to avoid drawing attention, she hurriedly walked away, avoiding eye contact with Harry. She didn't want to arouse suspicion or trouble anyone further during this difficult time.
Upon reaching her room, she hastily slammed the door shut and locked it, her heart pounding with anxiety.
She couldn't help but obsessively dwell on what had occurred in the forest.
Aren't they supposed to be locked away in the dreaded Azkaban prison?
What sinister motives could have brought them to that eerie forest?
Could they have somehow managed to escape Azkaban's clutches?
Is their presence in the forest a sinister pursuit of her?
Are they lurking in the shadows, biding their time, concealed from sight?
Countless relentless questions swarmed her troubled mind, overwhelming her with anxiety. She found herself compelled to retreat to the safety of her bed, a refuge from the tumultuous storm of her thoughts.
Seated there, she embarked on an exhausting mental marathon of introspection. Perhaps, during her upcoming outing with Harry, she could summon the courage to inquire about the Death Eater whereabouts.
In search of solace, she contemplated diverting her thoughts through the pages of a book. Determinedly, she plucked a tome from her bookshelf and began to read. However, her concentration wavered, and frustration began to mount. The same paragraph incessantly eluded her comprehension, as her mind relentlessly nagged at the forest mysteries.
Finally, in a fit of vexation, she slammed the book shut, unable to make any headway. It was impossible to focus when her thoughts incessantly revolved around the forest's enigma. With an exasperated sigh, she returned the book to its place on the shelf, her agitation intensifying. She impatiently checked her jeans pocket for her wand and retrieved it with a sense of urgency.
As if propelled by an irresistible force, she approached the door and, with a flick of her wand, swung it open, anxious to confront the mysteries lurking beyond.
She emerged from her room, her steps heavy with a burden she couldn't shake. Descending the creaking stairs, she caught sight of Percy and Ron, their solemn figures huddled in front of George's bedroom door, sipping Butterbeer as if trying to drown their sorrows. The thought of tomorrow's visit to Diagon Alley for books on undoing charms barely offered solace.
As she slipped away from the Burrow, she checked for prying eyes before breaking into a desperate sprint towards the desolate forest nearby.
Breathing heavily, she ventured deeper into the woods, the weight of her thoughts dragging her down. Finally, beneath the shelter of a lonely tree, she collapsed, tears streaming down her face, haunted by memories of the war that had scarred her soul.
Closing her eyes, she relived the horrors of the past, each painful moment etched into her memory. With great effort, she rose, determined to lose herself in the depths of the forest, as if the physical distance could somehow erase the emotional turmoil.
She walked further, the forest swallowing her, an apt metaphor for her fractured spirit. Lost or not, it hardly mattered; Mrs. Weasley had removed the anti-apparition charm after the war, allowing her to return to the Burrow effortlessly. In the silent woods, her only companions were the echoes of her footsteps and the haunting melodies of distant birdsong.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a shroud of foreboding over the landscape, the once inviting evening sky twisted into a malevolent abyss. The eerie symphony of hooting owls pierced the silence, their haunting calls echoing through the chilling air.
The gentle warmth of the breeze transformed into an icy grip, causing her to shiver uncontrollably. Clinging to herself for solace, she could feel an unnameable dread creeping upon her.
A sudden, bone-chilling sensation made her halt abruptly, and she strained to discern the sinister source. The ominous crunch of dead leaves echoed behind her, like a sinister specter stalking its prey. A frigid shiver slithered down her spine, entangling her in fear's icy grip.
Just as panic gripped her heart, a thick, white mist enveloped her, its tendrils searing her skin with an unearthly warmth. The realization clawed at her soul - an anti-apparition charm, a sinister trap laid with malevolence.
Her trembling fingers reached for her jeans pocket, where her lifeline, her wand, should have resided. Desperation turned to anguish as the empty pocket mocked her. Panic surged like a tidal wave; terror paralyzed her.
Then, in the oppressive darkness, a voice dripped with malevolence, a mere whisper that foretold her torment. "Crucio."
Agony beyond words seized her, reducing her to a writhing, agonized mass upon the ground. Every nerve screamed in torment, as though a legion of serrated blades relentlessly stabbed her, and her very essence felt consumed by searing flames.
Tears welled up in her eyes, hot and unstoppable, as she fought to suppress her cries, but the torment was merciless. She tried to crawl away from this hellish ordeal, but the pain was an all-encompassing monster, rendering her helpless.
Amidst her tortured screams, a chilling, sadistic laughter sliced through the darkness, an unseen audience reveling in her torment. Desperate, she strained her eyes to pierce the inky blackness, but her world had become a void, a realm of unending despair.
In the midst of the chilling darkness, an icy voice hissed, "Lumos." The wand's light burst forth, casting eerie shadows on Hermione's quivering form. She found herself surrounded by six towering, hooded figures, draped in sinister black robes and adorned with gleaming silver masks. They stood like ominous sentinels, observing her torment with cruel delight.
A menacing Death Eater, masked and wicked, extended his wand, greedily seeking his turn. "Rodulphus, you can't hoard all the pleasure. Let us partake as well..."
Rodulphus, the architect of this malevolent spectacle, resisted, his voice dripping with malice. "I've only just begun, Corban. Let me savor this moment. After all, it was my idea."
Reluctantly, Corban Yaxley yielded, though his hunger for cruelty remained unabated. Rodulphus retrieved a blade concealed within his cloak, tauntingly offering, "If you crave amusement, perhaps you'd care to assist."
"Of course, who would pass up the chance to revel with the Gryffindor princess when it presents itself," Yaxley replied, his voice laced with sadistic anticipation.
Together, they advanced upon Hermione, her dread deepening with every step. She lay there, a helpless soul, wracked with foreboding about the horrors that lay ahead. Gasping for air, she remained prostrate, her left palm pinned beneath Yaxley's cruel boot.
"Oh, do grant me the pleasure of savoring this moment, and perhaps, if you're lucky, you can join in the fun afterwards." Rodulphus chided, seizing her right hand with brutal force.
"Agreed," Yaxley grumbled. Rodulphus knelt beside her, gripping her trembling arm as she fought in vain against their overwhelming numbers. Rolling up her sleeve, he unveiled the haunting scar etched upon her skin by the sadistic Bellatrix Lestrange.
Hermione shivered as the icy touch of his hand traced the scar's contours. With a sinister blade, he carved a sinister word into her arm, and she winced, feeling the searing pain of her flesh being sliced open. Paralyzed by fear, she dared not move, knowing that any struggle would only worsen her plight. Tears streamed down her cheeks, mirroring her torment.
"Remarkably sharp, isn't it?" he taunted, admiring the slight cut on her neck. Then, with deliberate cruelty, he began to etch the same word once more onto her arm, while his companions watched, thoroughly entertained.
Desperate to endure the agony, Hermione fought to remain still. Yet, the torment proved too much to bear. She writhed and screamed, her cries echoing in the grim chamber. Devoid of her wand, she was utterly defenseless, a pawn in their twisted game of darkness.
After what seemed like an unending descent into the depths of torment, he rose, his gaze fixated on her arm oozing crimson despair. She'd have welcomed the release of death over this relentless agony.
"Not nearly as exquisite as Bella, though," he muttered, his disappointment dripping like venom.
"Finally, my moment," Yaxley whispered, emerging from her clenched, swollen fist.
He recoiled, his eyes gleaming with malevolent intent.
"Crucio," he hissed, directing his wand's merciless tip at Hermione's vulnerable core.
Her anguished cries pierced the oppressive darkness, a symphony of suffering etched with the darkest worry.
______________
Harry had always carried a deep, unspoken love for Hermione, though it was clear her feelings didn't mirror his own. While he believed he was in love with Ginny, it soon became apparent that his emotions were more fraternal than romantic. Harry's heart had forever harbored affection for Hermione, but the fear of confessing his true feelings loomed like a shadow. He dreaded that such a revelation might shatter their precious friendship, yet he knew he couldn't bottle up his emotions indefinitely.
With a resounding CRACK, Harry Apparated from the Leaky Cauldron to the Burrow, the dimness of evening settling in around him.
Approaching the door, he hesitated, then changed course. A solitary walk through the forest beckoned, offering him a moment of solitude. Instead of entering the Burrow, he ventured toward the woods.
"Why does everyone I care about have to end up in such heartbreaking situations..." Harry mused.
In his heart, he bore the belief that the demise of others was inextricably linked to him, as they had all sacrificed themselves to protect him.
In the eerie depths of the forest, as the sky turned ominously dark, Harry's heart raced with worry. With every step he took back towards the burrow, a haunting scream pierced the air, sending shockwaves of concern through his veins.
Driven by fear for the unknown, Harry didn't pause for a second; he sprinted recklessly toward the source of those agonizing cries, his anxiety mounting with each footfall.
The screams grew more agonizingly close, shrouded in the unsettling darkness. Panic threatened to consume him, and in desperation, he fumbled to retrieve his wand from his jeans pocket, trembling as he whispered, "LUMOS."
The wand's feeble light revealed a sight that sent shivers down Harry's spine: a girl with disheveled, chestnut hair lay beneath a gnarled tree, her relentless screams etching deep concern into Harry's very soul. As he drew near, dread gripped him as he recognized the familiar face of his best friend and secret crush, Hermione Granger.
Kneeling beside her, he shook her gently, but she remained trapped in her tormenting nightmare, her tear-stained face contorted with suffering, despite the chilling night air.
With a growing desperation, Harry increased the intensity of his shaking, his heart heavy with the memory of Hermione's past horrors at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange. He couldn't bear to witness her agony once more.
But even his most vigorous efforts failed to rouse her. Frustration and fear surged through him as he shook her wildly, oblivious to the danger he might be in.
Suddenly, Hermione's eyes fluttered open, and before Harry could comprehend the situation, the icy tip of her wand was poised menacingly at his throat. The abrupt turn of events left Harry paralyzed with terror, his breath caught in his throat, uncertain of what Hermione, in her disoriented state, might do next.
Wide-eyed and bewildered, she locked gazes with Harry, her trembling form finally recognizing him. In a heartbeat, she released her grip on the wand, dropping it to the ground with a clatter, and threw herself into Harry's arms, sobbing uncontrollably. The waves of relief mixed with lingering concern, as the forest's dark secrets and Hermione's torment still loomed in the shadows.
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