Yearning Beyond Reach

Run Away with Red Hand I

There is a dead body in front of her.

The living room was dim, a single flickering bulb casting long shadows against the cracked walls. Dust motes floated lazily in the thin stream of light, highlighting the trail of blood on the floor and the splattering on the wall. The air was thick with a scent of blood and burnt. Hermione Granger's stomach churn. Her breath came in shallow gasps as she stepped closer to the motionless figure sprawled across the floor, covering in its own blood.

The body—he was a middle-aged man, dressed in a white suit that was now soaked in blood. His features twisted in a frozen expression of terror.

Hermione shivered, the chill creeping up her spine, but she couldn't look away from those wide eyes. The pulse in her throat thundered louder than the silence around her. Her sweat felt cold on her skin.

Shit, shit, shit, SHIT!

Her breathing became labored, and her legs moved unsteadily. Hermione bit her lips, contemplating, and with trembling fingers, she squatted down and reached out, hesitating for a moment before gently turning his head away.

Then the door crashed open.

Hermione jumped, standing up, her wand instinctively snapping up in defense, heart pounding as she spun around.

An old woman stood still in the living room with Hermione and the dead body, face pale with shock, her gaze darting between Hermione and the body on the floor.

For a few seconds, no one moved.

Was the door left open?!

The room caught in a tense silence.

There must be no witness.

The old woman stared into Hermione's eyes in fear, and suddenly, she screamed—a high piercing sound that made Hermione flinch, and probably woke all the neighbors in this building.

Without thinking, Hermione raised her wand again, ready to destroy the future risk, but with that scream, the rest of the residents in the building rushed in with a loud noise. The old woman backed away as the other residents rushed past her.

Hermione quickly folded her arms at her sides and inserted her wand into her suit jacket.

"Call the police!" Hermione shouted, her voice harsher than she intended, looking back at the residents who were now standing shocked and whispering in the living room. "Now!"

Someone heard her. They started picking up the phone and calling the Muggles police.

Hermione's hands trembled as she pretended to fumble for her phone, slowly walking towards the hallway, as her mind raced, thoughts colliding in a chaotic swirl.

Get out, get out, gotta get out!

The call had been answered, the residents moved and scattered in the living room where the body lies, giving the opportunity for Hermione with an open door to get out of the scene.

Hermione's breath hitched. She had to think, had to act—and fast, and calm. She can't walk too fast. She has to look normal, like any other residents with horror on their faces.

Everything has been handled. Nothing could possibly reveal what happened in that living room, tonight. The Muggle police would never know, and the Ministry couldn't care less about a dead Muggle.

Hermione walked straight to the end of the corridor where there are stairs leading down. She could still feel her heart racing, a fleeting moment of hope blooming that she might escape unnoticed.