FLIPPED - harry potter

༺ 79 - the capturing.

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| THE CAPTURING |
"You're not worth dying for."

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THE SKY DARKENED AND NIGHT FELL.

As every second quickly passed by, Hermione became increasingly distracted with the book in hand. She frequently turned her head towards the small opening in the tent which Alora had previously walked out from.

Then it became too much to ignore.

Alora hadn't returned.

And, it wasn't as though this was completely out of her character, however, something didn't feel quite right; Hermione's fingers fidgeted with the corners of her pages, her heart-beat became increasingly rapid.

"I'm going out," she stood.

Ron's brows furrowed, "Lora's not been out that long, Hermione."

"I know," she nodded, walking towards the opening. "I have this horrid feeling, though. I need to check if she's alright."

"You casted the enchantment, didn't you?"

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek, "Yes, but—I'll—I'll just check anyway."

She then left. Just the same as Alora had.

The same breeze softly hit her face. She searched the small premise for any sign of her black-haired best friend, around every corner of the tent, behind every towering tree.

"Lora! Lora! Alora!"

Nothing.

Hermione swallowed thickly, continuing her repetitive circle of the area.

"Lora!"

THUD.

Hermione's head quickly shot down to the leafy ground, she quickly withdrew her wand and muttered 'Lumos' creating a small light source at the end. She then gently lifted her foot from where the sound had erupted.

The sight made her stomach fall and head spin.

Lowering to her knees, she outstretched a hand and pressed it against the lone wand.

It wasn't just any wand, Hermione knew that from the way her fingers trembled. It was Alora's; the same wand she'd seen almost each day for seven years, the wand that was constantly in her best friend's grasp, whether she was cursing Draco Malfoy or casting enchantments.

Tears quickly fell from her eyes, "Lora?"

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"WHEN WILL THIS STUPID GIRL WAKE UP?"

Alora's ears adjusted to the sudden sound, though her eyes remained shut. Her limbs felt weighted, as though an anchor dragged them down to the cold floor her skin was sprawled against.

Her scent was the next to awaken; cold, burnt, old.

"It hasn't been long, Lestrange."

"I need answers, West. We have the girl now. We need Potty too—"

The noises became clearer in her ears, ones that she recognised. The sharp, grating womanly tone. The familiar yet rotten male voice. What the fuck?

Her eyes shot open.

When they did, she finally caught a glimpse of the surroundings she'd woken into; dark, dimmed lighting, a gathering of people, a mass of black, curly hair, chilled, stone flooring.