The Hunter And The Haunted

Part 5

The thestral landed onto an empty open meadowland, dry grass stretching out in every direction. Its knees gave way and it crashed into the ground while Millicent just sprang off it.

The cage behind hit the ground harder and Hermione lurched off the ground only to fall head-first on the rusted bottom of the cage. A warmth trickled on her forehead and she gritted her teeth, not needing to touch her head to know it was bleeding.

Something in her snapped.

For the first time in her life, the anger she felt was enough to perform an unforgivable curse. To actually mean it.

A voice, wrathful and vindictive, hissed in her head; wanting to make Millicent's end as devastatingly slow and painful as possible. She'd despised Millicent when they were at Hogwarts together, but now hate was too kind a word for what she felt for the tall, bulky Slytherin female who stood by the side of the carriage, blowing her nose into the sleeve of her robes sounding not quite unlike a baby mandrake. If only for the agonising ride to... Wherever they were. Hermione had thrown up twice during the flight.

And now all she felt was rage.

Maybe the six months of imprisonment had finally hit her.

Maybe it was the fact that Aberforth Dumbledore was too much of a coward to help her when he owed her so much.

Maybe it was the fact that a soggy rock cake was the only food she had consumed over the last twenty-four hours.

Maybe it was that she was being dragged off to the Hunter and his hounds.

But Hermione's sanity had been hanging precariously by a thread; a frayed old thread.

If only she had a wand.

A wand.

Like the one sticking out from Millicent's robes as she strode over, sniffling, to unlock the cage and yank Hermione out with what hair she had left.

Hermione flung herself onto Millicent and the two toppled into the mud, Millicent letting loose a string of curses Hermione barely paid attention to, apologizing profusely as she tried to shake the mud off Millicent, which enraged her further.

And miss the slight flick of Hermione's wrist as she pinched the wand off the taller girl and hid it within the inner section of her ripped robes, tucked into the seam of her pants.

A risk, but one she would take.

If it was Millicent rounding up witch folk for the Hunter and his Hounds, these were people from Hogwarts, possibly yet from her year. She didn't think anyone else would suffer Millicent's behaviour unless they have grown up with her.

And if Millicent wasn't dead yet, with all the mistakes she had made so far, could the Hunter really be dangerous?

Millicent growled, pushing Hermione off her and ripping Hermione's satchel off her in the process.

"Walk, Mudblood!" She hissed, shoving Hermione in the direction of what looked like a path through the meadows. Hermione trudged forward, ignoring the clenching of her stomach as she put one foot ahead of the other, scanning the area for a clue about where she was.

It was an open field, quiet. And there was a rather stillness to it that she couldn't quite understand.

A forest rose up around the dip of the meadows and the land seemed to slant inwards as they walked through. A spot of red on the dry grass caught her eye and then another. But when she spotted a trap door in the centre of the meadows, she realised with clear conviction that this was, in fact, a hunting ground, flecked with dried blood.

Millicent ripped open the trap door with ease and pulled Hermione by her arm, forcing her down the stairway leading to a dungeon below.

The cold smell of despair hit her almost at once.

Cold dread filled her every sense and for a moment, she was back at Hogwarts, begging. Begging him to set her free.

But, Hermione. He purred, a mad gleam glinting in his eye as it caught the sliver of moonlight illuminating the dark, cold stoned cell. You've been such a bad girl. You keep telling me I'm wrong. In front of everyone as well. I have to punish you. You know that, don't you?

He drew closer, she began to tremble even as she stood chained to the wall, his breath hot against her face.

"But then you always acted like a bitchy know-it-all, didn't you?"

Her screams that night knew no beginning nor no end. Her hands were carved into.

Healed and carved again.

Grief had been her religion since then; tears, her prayers.

Six months, six grueling months of torture.

And now, here she was; being led through another dark corridor, cells full of familiar and unfamiliar faces. Scared and broken. Just as much as she was.

Fear loomed ahead, in every corner of the windowless dungeon, bearing its great white teeth at her as it feasted on each set of eyes staring through the iron-wrought cell bars.

Her bare feet dragged on, limping slightly, prodded by Millicent's pudgy finger to the very end of the musty corridor. The last empty cell.

The stoned floors rose to meet her as Millicent threw her in and locked up the cell. Hermione coughed and spat out some dried straw that found its way to her mouth, trying her hardest to pull herself up while Millicent's heavy footsteps made their way out.

"Well, well, well," drawled a voice from across the darkness. Hermione squinted, trying to accustom her eyes to the dim, gloomy, green glow of the dungeon. "If it isn't Hermione Granger..."

The voice was hoarse, dried like a wilted plant in the summer heat, and Hermione's eyes recognized the worn-out, thin-lipped face of Luna Lovegood, staring at her from the cell across. "Tell me... how good did it feel to kill my father?"