LIAR

darkest hours

The evening had been quiet enough—too quiet, in fact. The common room buzzed with the usual chatter of students preparing for the next day's classes, but there was an unease in the air, a sense that something wasn't right. Hermione, lost in thought, hadn't been able to shake the feeling that the calm before the storm was thickening, growing heavier by the second.

Then, all at once, everything changed.

A screeching howl echoed through the castle, sending a cold shiver down Hermione's spine. She froze mid-sentence, her eyes widening in panic. The sound wasn't just unsettling—it was a warning.

Before anyone could react, the windows shook violently, and a dark, oppressive wind howled through the hallways. The castle seemed to groan under some unseen pressure, as if it were straining to hold itself together. The golden trio exchanged worried glances, but the answer was already clear: something had gone horribly wrong.

"Hermione!" Ron shouted, his voice urgent. "Get to the common room! Now!"

But before they could move, the door burst open with a deafening crash. In the doorway, pale, shadowed figures emerged from the darkness, their hoods low, their faces hidden by darkness. The familiar, chilling gleam of the Death Eaters' masks caught the dim light. Their presence was suffocating, the very air around them heavy with menace.

And then, they came.

Dementors. Hundreds of them. Their icy, skeletal forms glided silently into the room, their chilling presence freezing the very air. Hermione gasped as the despair filled her chest, her heart pounding with terror. She could feel the darkness closing in, could feel her mind slipping, the weight of her worst memories threatening to drag her under.

"Run!" Harry shouted, pulling Ron and Hermione by the arms.

But before they could escape, the door slammed shut behind them. A voice from the shadows called out, cold and biting.

"Not so fast, Potter. Not so fast, Granger."

Hermione froze, her stomach twisting as she turned to face the source of the voice. There, standing in the flickering light of the torches, was Draco Malfoy.

He wasn't alone. The cloaked figures beside him were unmistakable—Death Eaters, his own allies, were gathered behind him. But Draco's eyes were different. There was no malice in them, no mocking sneer, only fear.

"Malfoy?" Ron spat, his wand raised, his stance defensive. "What are you doing with them? You—"

"Listen to me," Draco interrupted, his voice urgent and hoarse, cutting through Ron's fury. His eyes were wide, panicked, a side of him Hermione had never seen before. "You have to trust me. They're here for all of us—" He hesitated, glancing nervously at the shadows. "They've breached the castle."

The Dementors hovered closer, their cold breath sucking the warmth out of the air, but Draco didn't flinch. Instead, he stepped forward quickly, reaching out to grab Hermione's wrist.

"Come on! They're coming for you!" he shouted, his grip tight.

"Draco, what are you doing?" Hermione gasped, her heart racing, but her body followed his lead instinctively, her fingers cold as they gripped his arm.

Without another word, Draco yanked them all into the corridor. The Death Eaters behind him moved quickly, surrounding the trio. Draco's face was tense, but he barely looked at them, his focus entirely on the urgency of the situation.

"We don't have time," Draco said through gritted teeth. "Stay close. Follow me!"

Hermione's breath hitched as they ran down the darkened hallways of the castle, the distant screams of students echoing from further down. It was chaos. The walls trembled under the impact of spells being cast, the sounds of fighting and crashing filling the air. The castle seemed to be falling apart, its stone structure crumbling under the weight of the dark forces that had invaded it.

Draco didn't stop, even as more Dementors swarmed from every direction. Their cold, eerie presence pressed in on them, and Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat. She fought against the despair, trying to push away the horrible memories they dredged up, but it was a losing battle. Ron and Harry were struggling too, their faces pale as they fought to hold on to their thoughts, their identities.

"Expecto Patronum!" Harry cried out desperately, but the silver stag that appeared was weak, flickering as though it could barely hold the Dementors at bay.

Draco pushed forward, his grip on Hermione tight, pulling her along even though she was barely able to move. She could hear the rasp of his breath, the way his chest heaved, and she felt an overwhelming surge of confusion.

"Why are you helping us?" she asked, her voice trembling as they rounded another corner.

Draco glanced at her quickly, his expression strained. "You think I'd leave you to die here?" he snapped, his voice tight. "I'm not that heartless. Just keep up!"

They ran through the crumbling castle, corridors collapsing around them, a cacophony of spells and destruction in the distance. Hermione glanced behind her—Dementors were closing in. The Death Eaters were right behind them, their dark cloaks swirling like shadows. It seemed hopeless.

Draco pulled them toward a door, his eyes darting nervously. "This way," he urged. "We'll get you to the dungeons. It's the safest place right now."

Suddenly, a blast rocked the hall ahead of them, causing debris to fall from the ceiling. Draco threw himself in front of them, shielding Hermione from the falling rubble. His body collided with hers as they hit the floor, the weight of him pinning her to the stone.

"Stay down!" he ordered, his voice frantic.

Hermione gasped for breath, her heart pounding. As she pushed herself up, she could see the determined look in Draco's eyes—something raw, something unrecognizable to the boy she'd known.

"You've got to stay safe," he continued, pushing her toward the dungeons. "They'll be after you. They're after all of us, but you're the target."

"Why?" Ron asked, his voice sharp, confused. "Why would they want Hermione? Why are you helping us?"

But Draco didn't answer. Instead, he reached for Hermione's hand, pulling her again, this time with more urgency. He was breathing heavily now, sweat lining his forehead, and for the first time, Hermione saw the fear in his eyes—raw, unfiltered fear.

"This isn't over," Draco said, his voice cracking under the weight of the situation. "And I can't protect you forever. We need to get out of here—now."

With no other choice, the trio followed him, the storm of chaos around them threatening to tear the castle apart. The ground beneath their feet shook, and the distant sound of curses being cast filled the air as they raced toward the safety of the dungeons. But Hermione couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning, and that things were about to get far worse.